I stepped into a dim entry way, the only light coming from two solitary candles set in the wall. And between the candles was a pair of ornate doors which were cracked open. The air was warm and filled with happy sounds and even happier smells; smells like roasted pig and baked, cinnamon apples.
I was greeted by two women — at least I think they were women. They wore black tuxedos, and their eyes were hidden behind plain white masks.
They smiled cooly and reached for my coat with white-gloved hands.
"Welcome, Ms. Hollis," they said in unison. "We've been expecting you."
"Yeah, sorry I'm late," I said, shimmying out of my coat. "I had some trouble with the directions. Those fireflies, though, they're helpful little suckers."
They said nothing to this.
One woman escorted me to a small table by the double doors, pointing down at a silver ink well and an ancient guestbook. The other woman was busy hanging my coat up on a coat rack. She handled it delicately, as if my coat were studded with diamonds.
"Wait a minute," I said, squinting in the candle light.
My coat sparkled.
"That's not my coat."
I took a step toward her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, is there some mistake?" she said.
I reached for the coat. I ran my fingers along the thick sleeve; the material was heavy, velvety — luxurious even. I pulled the sleeve toward my face, and when the light caught the material just right, it sparkled as if someone had sewn a thousand tiny stars into the fabric.
"No, no, no! This is definitely not my coat! No way!"
The other woman touched my shoulder.
"Ms. Hollis, I assure you, this is the coat you were wearing when you walked into the hall."
She was right; I had been there after all. But still, I couldn't believe my eyes.
What's going on?
"Now, if you will come this way, we can sign you up for the raffle," she said, gently guiding me back to the guestbook.
She placed a feathered quill in my hand, and when I reached for it, I gasped.
For, I, too, was wearing white satin gloves; the kind you see in old Victorian woodcuts.
I looked at my gloved hands, and then at my dress. It had changed into a red and gold number, complete with corset, puffy skirt and ample cleavage.
"Whoa!" I said, jumping back. "That's some serious Cinderella mojo right there!"
"Oh, are you referring to your costume?" the woman said. "It comes complimentary with the mask."
She presented me with a hand mirror.
"Is it not to your liking?"
I gaped at my own reflection. I gaped at my own hair which was pulled up, set in thick curls and decorated with black, green and purple feathers. I gaped at my bosom which was pushed up nearly to my chin, and at my lips which were as red as apples.
"It's not that I don't like it," I stuttered. "It's just very…"
"Is it not the costume you chose?"
Carmilla! I thought. Of, course!
"Um, I didn't choose it," I said. "It was a gift."
"Oh, well that explains it," she said, setting the mirror aside. "Now, if you could simply write your name twice here, then we can get you entered into the raffle and on your way."
She tapped again on the faded page of the guestbook.
"A raffle?" I said. "Really?"
"It's required of all our guests. It will only take a moment."
"Alright," I said.
I dipped the quill into the black ink, but when I scratched my name on the page, it appeared as red as blood, which was… disconcerting. And when I had finished writing my name twice, both copies caught fire in a flash of light, burning up and fading out faster than the fastest firework, leaving only an ashen signature on the page.
"Whoa," I whispered, touching the page with the tip of my finger.
The place where I had signed was still warm. I read the names above mine; Lucille Ball, Sylvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe.
"No way," I said to myself. "It can't be."
"Now, it's done," the woman said.
She took the quill from my hand and closed the book in one quick gesture; the sound snapped me out of my stupor.
"Here is your dance card," she said, slipping a string around my wrist, a little paper card dangling from the string. "Your coat check under number is 20,598."
"20,598?"
"Yes. The buffet will be set at ten o'clock. The raffle will be held at midnight on the dot. Guests are required to attend in the ballroom. The raffle will be followed by the Secret Saturn gift exchange. If you did not prepare a gift, a gift will be prepared of you."
"You mean, for me," I corrected her. "A gift will prepared for me."
"No, I mean of you. Please enjoy!"
She pulled open the doors before I could discuss the point any further.
