Page 95 of Deviant

Well, it used to have its perks. Nowadays not so much.

I push my deer mask up the bridge of my nose and stare at the projector aimed at the large screen on stage, praying that the film inside will feature my name tonight.

That’s the other tradition that somehow became set in stone—the entire town must wear a half mask featuring an animal to cover their faces during the festival. You are only allowed to remove it if you are called by name to join the Harvest Dozen.

When I was younger, I used to believe that this tradition held significant meaning. Something that we were supposed to wear for our own protection, forcingThe Scourgeto look into a person’s soul to make their selection. How naive of me to believe that such silly masks could ward off whoever was behind the games.

After reading Nora’s little black book, I now know that all of this… is for show.

It is nothing more than a false, superstitious event, governed by mythical rules and devised by the founding families of this town to mislead us. They want us to believeThe Scourgepossesses some kind of unearthly power rather than acknowledging it as the result of a man-made agreement to sacrifice their own.

It’s a lousy smoke and mirrors show. And like sheep, we all accepted it as fact. Worse-—we celebrate it.

Life blooms in the town square, filled with vibrant stalls forming a half-moon around the stage where laughter rises like the colorful streamers fluttering in the crisp autumn breeze. The air is thick with the fragrance of caramel apples andwarm spiced cider, mingling with the scent of earthy hay bales stacked alongside the carnival games stalls. Men in rich browns and deep blacks move through the crowd, their joyful voices mingling with the cheerful squeals of children, while women in soft, white-and-cream dresses glide gracefully, their laughter like music hanging in the air. They feast and cheer as the looming clock tower stands sentinel over city hall, reminding us that time is fleeting and grows heavier with each passing minute.

Beneath the joyous facade, my heart weighs down like a stone, each chime of the clock deepening my sense of sorrow and resentment. How can they dance and celebrate when death is on the horizon for eleven doomed souls? At the stroke of midnight, the chosen few will vanish from this vibrant tapestry of life, leaving behind everyone they ever loved or cared for. I stand amidst the whirl of activity, feeling like a ghost in a bright world of autumn colors. The oranges and dark yellows that decorate the square taunt me with their warmth and festivity, cruelly contrasting with the cold reality that awaits a chosen few. I want to scream and shake them awake from their ignorant subservience and apathy. Still, I smile numbly instead, clenching the fabric of my dress like a lifeline, watching the merriment unfold around me and longing for this god-awful festival to finally come to its end.

And my fate to begin.

Thankfully, I’ve been able to keep myself busy rather than wallowing in such thoughts by helping Rosie with her stall and handing out pies left and right to our customers. However, every now and then, I can’t help but glance up at the clock tower to check the time, immediately disappointed to see the hour hand nowhere near midnight.

Wearing a bear mask, Joe leans against the stand and greets, “Heya girlie. Deer mask, huh? Nice! Though those antlers must be a bitch to carry around.”

‘Not as heavy as the secret I’m holding in,’I think to myself.

“They’re fine. I can take them off whenever I want. See?” I demonstrate by placing the antlers on the table, leaving the rest of the mask in place. “I just wanted to try something different this year,” I add.

I’ve always worn a white butterfly mask in prior festivals, but this year, I made a late judgment call and decided against wearing it. The white butterfly mask screamed out hope and innocence, whereas a deer mask feels more like telling the world what an easy prey I am. If it will do the job of baitingThe Scourge,or any hunter for that matter, to take me on my word, then it’s worth a try.

“Well, if different was what you were going for, you nailed it on the head.” Joe laughs, taking a swig of his drink.

“Do you want anything? Rosie’s pumpkin pie is selling like hotcakes.”

“Not really hungry, to be honest. Doubt I could eat a bite right now. Not until I know if my name is going to pop up on that screen or not,” he replies somberly, taking his flask out of his jacket pocket to drink.

My shoulders slump at the idea that Joe might be selected.

I’ve been so consumed with getting my name on that list that I’ve forgotten that eleven more names will be attached to mine. Eleven candidates who don’t want to go.

I understand why he can’t stomach the idea of eating. To be fair, I’m having a hard time just handing food out to everyone.

“Don’t look at me like that, girlie,” he says, pointing a teasing finger at me. “Remember, I’ve got a foolproof plan.”

“You mean your loopholes?”

He taps the tip of his nose with his finger and replies, “If all goes well, tonight will be the last night I have to come to this god-awful festival.” He takes another swig and continues, “Okay,girlie. I’ll see if I can find you just before midnight. I’m going to mingle.”

“Have fun.” I smile sadly, watching him wobble away until he gets lost in the crowd.

“How about you take a little break?” Rosie suggests beside me, misinterpreting the sad expression for something else. “I’m sure you’re eager to spend quality time with your father and your friends before things get… hectic. Don’t worry about the stand. We can handle it for the rest of the night.”

The pity in her eyes has me conceding to her request. I don’t have the heart to tell her that the last thing my father wants is to spend time with me. And as for friends… the only real friend I had is no longer alive.

Nevertheless, I do as she says and take a stroll through the festival. The sound of people having a good time and laughing alienates me. The laughter echoing around me feels distant, like a melody I can’t quite grasp. Colorful lights twinkle above, illuminating friends and families as they share the joy of the games and stalls, their faces alight with glee. I watch children racing to the ring toss, their delighted banter making my heart ache with a longing I can’t articulate. Couples dance to music I can barely hear, their smiles radiant, while I’m cloaked in an almost palpable sense of solitude.

Someone hands me a cup of warm cider, the heat flowing through my hands contrasting with the chill residing deep within my very bones. Everyone seems like they are all bursting with life, and I can’t shake the feeling of being a ghost, drifting through a celebration meant for the living.

Does anyone even care what’s about to happen at midnight?

---