Magic to Do

by keepcalmandfangirlon

Every year they come. Over time people have forgotten the players. They are still told about in legends and bedtime stories to small children, to warn them to behave. There is a reason that the residents of the village make up the stories, though. Because they remember. They remember how, long ago, a boy named Pippin, broke a promise. And they've been paying for it ever since.

Some people fear the players.

Some people dream of the players.

Some people believe that they don't exist.

But they do. And every year they come. Some years in the heart of the summer, when the leaves are dark green and the sun beats hot on the ground. Some years in the lighthearted spring, when the flowers bloom pink and white and yellow and the rain tastes like wine. Some years in the dusk of fall, when the earth is covered with leaves of a thousand different shades of gold and red and orange. And some years in winter, when the snow reflects moonlight on the ground and the stars are brighter than any other season.

Every year.

They come.

Over time people have forgotten the players. They are still told about in legends and bedtime stories to small children, to warn them to behave. There is a reason that the residents of the village make up the stories, though. Because, subliminally, they remember. They remember how, long ago, a boy who used to live there, a boy named Pippin, broke a promise.

Each year, someone is gone from the small mountain village.

A teenage boy or girl, anywhere between the ages of six and twenty. They are always young, always the ones you wouldn't see if you looked for them. The girl whose friends betrayed her. The boy who lost his twin in a car crash. The child tortured at school or ignored at home, the one who was an artist or a singer who no one understood. Like her.

They called the girl "Freak" at school. She was the sort of girl to hide behind the library shelves to eat her lunch, the sort who never went anywhere after school.

Her parents never paid attention to her, too absorbed in their own failing marriage to ever talk to their daughter. They weren't the sort to tell bedtime stories, so she didn't know to be careful in the woods behind her house. Which was where she ran the night her father slapped her for bringing home a failing grade on her report card. She ran deep into the woods, letting the branches slap her face and raise stinging welts on her arms and legs, until she tripped over a rock and fell on the ground. Where she cried. Hours passed. She lay there, on the carpet of autumn leaves for hours. Until she heard music, and saw the hands. Glowing hands, like ghosts. And the music, no words, just a haunting strain.

Then she stepped out of the trees. The Leading Player herself.

She's beautiful. Clad in entirely in black, from her knee-high boots to her top hat, she stands out like a spotlight, even in the dark night. Her sparkling eyes locked directly on the girl, lying on the ground, shocked. And she smiled and began.

Join us, leave your fields to flower.

Join us, leave your cheese to sour.

Join us, come and waste an hour or two.

The girl scrambled to sit up, remembering the stories that she heard, whispering about the players. But these people, the people emerging from the woods in their beautiful costumes and makeup weren't scary. They looked somewhat frightening, but at the same time, welcoming. The Leading Player smiled, the kind of smile that a friend would give a person, warm and friendly. The way no one had ever smiled at the girl. And she found herself smiling back.

We've got magic to do, just for you. We've got miracle plays to play. We've got parts to perform, hearts to warm, kings and things to take by storm as we go along our way.

The woman's voice was like chocolate.

"Join us."

The girl thought about her parents, about the dark corners of her school, of the silence she lived in perpetually. And she stood and took the hand of the Leading Player.

Crimson, gold and lavender light washed over her as her t-shirt and jeans burned away, replaced by a glittering costume. Her skin became clear and glowed, lit up with multicolored makeup. Her eyes sparkled.

But something else happened, too. The girl forgot. She forgot her family, her old school, and her life.

She was a player.

But escape always comes with a price.

And next year, she would call another child into the woods with the rest of the players.

We've got magic to do, just for you. We've got magic to do, just for you. We've got foibles and fables to portray, as we go along our way.

The End.