Oddest of All

by Bruce Coville

  Partway around the lake Harley entered a clearing. In its center he saw the crumbled remains of what looked like a stone table. The sight made him shiver, though he couldn’t say why. Moving more quickly, he passed through the clearing and back into the woods.

  When he came to the group of buildings, Harley was unhappy to realize that most of them were closed. His disappointment eased when he saw that the single store with a light in its window was the most interesting one of all: a magic shop.

  How can a town this small support something as interesting as a magic shop? he wondered. Then, with a shrug, he repeated the word his grandmother used to describe all sorts of odd phenomena: “Tourists.”

  The closer Harley came to the shop, the more fascinating it looked. The mist curled around it like some strange cloud. A large bay window bulged out from the front.

  Painted on that window were the words

  ELIVES MAGIC SUPPLIES

  S. H. ELIVES, PROP.

  It was getting darker. Harley knew he should be heading for home, but this was simply too good to resist. Approaching the door, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

  The fact that the shop seemed to be deserted was less important than the fantastic array of items it contained. To his right was a wall filled with cages. He wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. Magicians used rabbits and doves for pulling out of hats. But what were the lizards, toads, and bats for? He started to walk closer, but when the biggest toad smiled at him, he quickly turned away.

  The left side of the room was dominated by a glass-fronted counter filled with silk scarves, giant decks of cards, and mysterious-looking wooden boxes.

  Stretching across the back of the shop was a long wooden counter with a dragon carved in the front. On top of the counter sat an old-fashioned brass cash register. Perched on top of the cash register was a very handsome stuffed owl.

  Behind the counter was a doorway covered by a beaded curtain.

  All this was interesting enough. But what really caught Harley’s attention was the display at the very center of the store. Under a sign that read PUT ON A HORRID FACE was a table holding a jumble of masks. Harley, who had always wanted a truly scary mask to wear on Halloween, moved toward it eagerly. The ones carried by the local stores simply weren’t that interesting; these looked far better. For one thing, they were the kind that covered your whole head.

  The first mask he picked up was a deliciously terrifying werewolf, covered with real—or at least real-feeling—fur. Right under it he found a vampire mask with glistening fangs that was horrifying even without being worn over someone’s head. Harley touched one of the fangs, and a drop of red liquid oozed out, causing him to shudder even as it delighted him. Continuing to paw through the collection, he found demons, monsters, ghouls, goblins, and ghosts. Then, at the bottom of the pile, he found a mask that, despite being very simple, sent a chill rippling down his spine.

  It was the face of a boy about his own age.

  Harley could not have said why he found this mask so frightening yet at the same time so irresistible. Plucking it from the pile, he held it in front of him. It had a thick thatch of blond hair, a freckle-dusted snub nose, and a wide, smiling mouth. It was a very handsome face—or would have been, if it had been real. In fact, it was very much the way Harley himself had always wished he looked.

  Why, then, did it scare him so much?

  Distracted by an odd sound, Harley glanced up. To his surprise, the sound had come from the owl on the cash register. Clearly he had been mistaken when he thought it was stuffed! Blinking at him, the owl uttered a low hoot, then stretched its wings, shook itself, and closed its eyes again.

  “Peace, Uwila!” growled a voice from beyond the beaded curtain. “I’m coming.”

  The curtain parted. An old man, so stooped that he stood scarcely taller than Harley, shuffled out. He had long white hair that hung lank about his shoulders, and wrinkles on his wrinkles. Despite these signs of age his eyes were dark and piercing.

  Harley’s hands began to shake so badly he dropped the mask.

  “Pick that up!” ordered the old man. “Right now!”

  His dry, husky voice made Harley think of the wind rustling through the dying leaves of the forest. Quickly, he did as the old man ordered.

  The shopkeeper shuffled closer, then smiled, which shifted his wrinkles in odd ways. “Why do you want a mask?”

  “For Halloween,” answered Harley, thinking it was a stupid question.

  The old man stared directly into Harley’s eyes. “Tell me the real reason.”

  Harley found unexpected thoughts rising within him: I want to be someone different. I want to hide my face. I don’t want people to know me.

  The words horrified him, both because they were true and because he did not want to utter them in front of this stranger.

  “I like disguises,” he said at last, somewhat weakly.

  The old man nodded. “Halfway to the truth—better than most people manage. All right, which mask did you come to buy?”

  “I didn’t come to buy anything at all.”

  The old man shook his head. “No one comes into my shop by accident. Now, tell me which mask you want. Quickly!”

  Frightened by the old man’s ferocity, Harley gulped and said, “I’ll take this one!”

  The old man—Mr. Elives? wondered Harley—looked unexpectedly pleased, almost as if he were relieved. “Fine. That will be two days.”

  Harley stared at him in astonishment. “What?”

  “You heard me. You owe me two days. I’ll collect them later. Right now darkness is falling and it would be wise for you to move along. Take the side door. It will get you home more quickly.”

  Seized with sudden panic, Harley bolted in the direction the old man pointed and shot through the door. Time seemed to blur. Before he knew it, he was standing at the top of the path where he had entered the woods.

  Harley shook his head. How had he gotten all the way up here? He felt himself blush as he realized he must have been so scared when he left the shop that he didn’t even remember running back up the path. But even as he told himself that this was what had happened, he knew it was a lie.

  It was only after he had taken his first steps toward home that he noticed he was still holding a mask. Glancing down, he saw with disgust that it was the face of the handsome boy. He sighed. How stupid could he be? With all those wonderful masks to choose from, why had he picked this one? But then, he hadn’t really picked it. It was simply the mask he had been holding when he fled the shop.

  A tag dangled from the mask’s edge. Lifting it, Harley saw handwritten words, the letters formed in a cursive so thin and spidery he had to squint to make them out in the fading October light:

  * * *

  This is the mask of Eamonn Tiyado. It should be worn with care and respect. If it becomes soiled, simply wash with soap and water.

  To avoid trouble, we recommend you not wear the mask for more than two hours at a time.

  To remove, pinch your nostrils and blow.

  A final warning: Do not eat or drink while wearing the mask. To do so is to court disaster!

  * * *

  Harley dropped the tag with a sigh of exasperation. He had bought a mask made by lunatics!

  He caught his breath. Had he really “bought” the mask? If so, did that mean he had paid two days for it? And if he had, how were those two days going to be collected?

  Sick with fear, Harley continued toward home. When he passed Tiyado Lane he sped up, as if he feared the abandoned house at the end of the street would disapprove of what he carried.

  His grandmother was waiting for him in the kitchen, as he knew she would be. She was worried, as he also knew she would be.

  “Harley, where have you been?” she signed, her fingers deft and quick.

  “Trying to stay out of trouble,” he signed back, with complete honesty.

  “Well, come on. Supper’s getting cold.”

  Later that night, whe
n he was alone in his room, Harley pulled the mask over his head. It was a bit of a struggle at first; the neck opening was tighter than he had expected and the material did not slide easily over his forehead. But after a moment something changed. He felt the mask grow warm. It began to slither across his skin, moving and adjusting to make a tighter fit all by itself, sealing itself to his skin. He would have cried out in terror—except his mouth seemed to be sealed.

  He hurried to the mirror. When he saw his reflection, he did cry out: The mask had adjusted to his face so perfectly it was as if Harley had disappeared, completely replaced by the mysterious Eamonn Tiyado. Even his eyes had changed, from brown to a beautiful deep blue!

  Harley clawed at the mask, desperate to pull it from his face. But it felt as if he were tearing at his own skin, and the sudden pain when he dug too hard made him stop.

  Looking in the mirror again, he gasped. Scratch marks had appeared on the mask where he had been gouging at it.

  Taking a deep breath, Harley squinched his eyes shut and forced himself to be calm. Finally he remembered that the tag had said something about how to remove the mask. Fingers trembling, Harley put his hand to his neck to search for that tag. To his horror he finally realized it had been sealed under the mask, the only hint of its existence a raised, rectangular patch at the side of his neck.

  New panic seized him. The directions had seemed absurd when he read them. Now they were the most important thing in the world. Leaning his head against his dresser, Harley took several deep breaths, trying to bring back the words on the tag. Finally his brain retrieved a phrase: “To remove, pinch your nostrils and blow.”

  Feeling ridiculous, he tried it.

  Instantly, the mask loosened around Harley’s neck and ears. Tugging at it, he felt a pulling sensation, almost like peeling dried glue away from your skin. A moment later he was able to lift the whole thing over his head.

  Dizzy with relief, Harley flung the mask across the room.

  Ten minutes later, when his hands had stopped shaking and his heart was no longer pounding, he went to pick it up. Holding it in front of him, he stared at the lifeless features. Slowly, he began to smile. Now that he knew how to do it, removing the mask wasn’t really that hard. Which meant it held intriguing . . . possibilities.

  The next day Harley took the mask to school. It was all he could do to keep from showing it to people, but that would have ruined everything. Instead, just after dismissal he slipped into the boys’ room and pulled the mask over his face. As before, it sealed itself to his skin, replacing his own plain features with the handsome face of Eamonn Tiyado.

  Scurrying out of the school, he caught up with Annie Dexter at the corner of Hawley and Smoot. The sun sparkling in her flowing amber hair took his breath away, and he almost walked straight past, afraid to speak despite the fact that he had a new face to hide behind.

  She won’t know it’s you, he reminded himself fiercely. Talk to her!

  Gathering all his courage, he said, “Hi!”

  Annie looked at him in puzzlement, but he could also see in her expression admiration for his handsome face.

  “Hi,” she said. “Are you new in school?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  The words came out before Harley could stop himself, came from someplace he didn’t understand: “They call me Eamonn Tiyado.”

  Annie looked at him in shock. “That’s not funny!” she snapped. Thrusting her thumbs under the straps of her backpack, she turned and stalked away.

  Harley watched her go in dismay. Why in the world had he said such a stupid thing?

  He began trudging toward home. He had not gone more than a few blocks before an older woman walking toward him looked at his face, then cried out and crossed herself. When Harley stared at her she shook her head, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I thought . . . but that’s impossible. Only . . .” She wrinkled her brow, embarrassment changing to confusion. “You look like someone I went to school with.”

  Then she burst into tears and hurried on.

  Harley ran into the bushes, pinched his nostrils, and got out of the mask as fast as he could.

  He did not sleep well that night, his rest plagued by strange dreams of faceless figures chasing him through the forest. The clock beside his bed showed 2:00 A.M. when he got up and moved the mask from his desk to the bottom drawer of his dresser.

  The next day, October 30, he took a detour on his way to school so he could walk past Tiyado Lane. Without intending to, he turned onto the street itself. It was short, running only four blocks before ending in a wide circle. On the far side of the circle, behind bent and rusted iron gates, was the driveway that led to Tiyado Mansion.

  Harley stood at the gate and looked up. The mansion was perched on top of a hill, almost a hundred yards from the gate. At a display in the town library, he had seen—and admired—pictures of how the place had looked when it was new. It made him sad, now, to see the sagging roof, broken windows, and rotting porch. Once, Tiyado Mansion had been spectacular. Now it just looked . . . tired.

  Harley turned and hurried to school, where he was yelled at three times for failing to pay attention.

  The next night was Halloween. Harley decided against going trick-or-treating, partly because he thought he might be too old for it, partly because he figured wearing the mask would be pointless, since most people would think he was just some good-looking kid who couldn’t be bothered to put on a costume. And anyone who did recognize the face of Eamonn Tiyado would probably freak out the way that woman on the street had.

  Instead he went to the community bonfire at the high school. Though he hadn’t planned to wear the mask, at the last minute he tucked it into his backpack. Then he kissed his grandmother good-bye and signed that he would see her in the morning, both of them knowing full well that she would be asleep by nine o’clock.

  He wasn’t sure why he took the mask with him. Just in case, was all he told himself. But along the way just in case somehow changed to just for fun and he decided to put it on.

  That was his first mistake. He didn’t make the second until two hours later. The bonfire was dying down then. For most of the evening Harley had enjoyed the anonymity that came from having a new face. People looked at him curiously, and though he could often sense a bit of admiration—or envy—for his good looks, for the most part everyone left him alone. The only exceptions to this were a few girls who came over to talk to him. He got the sense that they had been sent on information-gathering missions by their friends, and when he refused to say anything about who he was or where he had come from—he had already learned his lesson in that regard—they retreated to their groups. He was amazed at how much easier it was to talk to a pretty girl when he had a handsome face of his own.

  Then he spotted Annie Dexter. He hadn’t expected her to be there. Remembering the first conversation he had had with her while wearing the mask, Harley turned to the refreshment table to avoid her. Grabbing a donut, he took a huge bite. As he swallowed, he felt a coldness seize his body. His face began to tingle. He had the terrifying feeling that the mask, already sealed against his skin, was now melting into it.

  Only then did he remember the warning on the tag: “Do not eat or drink while wearing the mask. To do so is to court disaster!”

  When Harley had read those words, he had thought they were nonsense, a weak attempt at Halloween humor. Now he knew, with sickening certainty, that the warning was vitally important. Rushing from the crowd, he hid in the shadows, pinched his nostrils, and blew.

  Nothing happened.

  Panic swelling within him, he clawed at the mask.

  He would have had better luck trying to tear off his own skin.

  And then came something worse, something infinitely worse: A voice in his mind begged, Take me home! Please, take me home!

  Terror pulsed through Harley’s veins. Yet the desperate power of the call was overwhelming. He bolted from the sch
ool yard. Without really thinking about it, he ran toward Tiyado Mansion.

  The night air was crisp, scented with Halloween magic. Fallen leaves swirled around his feet, and a full moon slipped in and out of the massing clouds. The streets were quiet and mostly empty, though he could hear a band of older boys hooting in the distance. Jack-o’-lanterns still glowed in front of some houses, but most of the porch lights were out, indicating that people were done dispensing candy.

  Harley’s side ached, and he began to slow his pace.

  Take me home! urged the voice in his head again.

  Harley ran even faster, driven by the urgency of the words. Overhead he heard the first rumble of thunder. The wind picked up, whipping the leaves across the street and bending the tops of the trees. A few minutes later, gasping for breath, he turned onto Tiyado Lane. Despite the sense of urgency that had driven him here, he stopped in his tracks. Something was wrong. At first he couldn’t figure out what. Then, with a shock, he realized that all the cars looked as if they had come from some old movie. Next he noticed that the streetlights were strangely different from the ones he was used to. And the trees! Most of them were smaller than he remembered, and other big trees stood where he had never seen any before.

  Lightning sizzled overhead. The world shimmered, and all at once Harley was seeing the street as it looked in the present. More lightning, another shimmer, and the street shifted back into the past.

  He would have turned and fled, except the voice, stronger than ever, was still urging, Take me home! I have to go home!

  More lightning, and Tiyado Lane was back in the present. When Harley reached the cul-de-sac at the end of the lane he slowed down. The towering iron gate that barred the path leading to Tiyado Mansion was closed. He pulled at it. The gate was not locked, but it creaked piteously, barely moving. Another flash of lightning and the gate—straighter and no longer rusty—swung open smoothly and silently.