“Is that…”
Harlow hummed. “Yup, headless horsemen. He’s known around town as Jack. Jack usually leaves his horse at home, which is close to the forest we are forbidden to enter, at a cottage with a pasture.” Harlow leaned close to me. “Jack doesn’t like people touching his horse, so no touchy.”
I nodded. Yeah, okay.
The tent was packed with creatures straight out of horror movies, except they weren't wearing costumes. A group of Lycans lounged near the bar, their fur gleaming under the fairy lights as they knocked back drinks with elongated claws. In the corner, a vampire couple with porcelain skin sipped from crystal goblets, their eyes occasionally flashing crimson. Something green and dripping slithered between tables, leaving a trail of murky puddles in its wake. And then I heard it…
A voice like fingernails on glass scraped my friend’s name: "Harlow..." I spun around and stared up, way up, at a figure in an impossibly crisp black suit. He towered over us, unnaturally tall and straight, as if someone had stretched a man like taffy and then starched him stiff. Of all the nightmares mingling in this tent, this one made my skin crawl the most.
He was a Slenderman.
Harlow bounced on her heels. "Mayor Hollow! I brought extra cookies!" She reached up to straighten her bunny ears, which had gone askew. Where the Slenderman's face should have been, a gash appeared, splitting wider until rows of needle-sharp teeth gleamed in the tent light.
This was significantly different from what I was used to reading about…
I grabbed Harlow's arm to pull her back, yet her bunny tail didn’t even shake as I tried to pull her away.
Mayor Hollow's laughter sliced through the air as he accepted Harlow's basket, his spindly fingers brushing against her skin a moment too long. "Your fear is misplaced, Kassie," he said, that terrible mouth-gash widening. "What you see is merely an elaborate disguise. Within our town limits, you enjoy protection unlike anywhere else. The originals who founded this place would sacrifice themselves before allowing harm to befall any resident." With an unnaturally fluid motion, he pressed one elongated arm across his chest and bent at the waist in an old-fashioned bow.
The originals?
My body shivered. While I have always wanted to believe that monsters, from the romance books I read, existed, this was hitting me hard. It really was all true.
I had hoped that Atlas was this Mothman, but a sliver of me thought it wasn’t. This was all the proof I needed. Maybe I didn’t fully believe it before, but here it was.
Harlow nudged me. “Breathe, Kassie. Mayor Hollow is going to think you are sick or something.”
The mayor's mouth-gash twisted into what might have been a smile as his impossibly long fingers brushed over Harlow's hair. "Such formality from you still, my little doll? After all this time? Gideon will do nicely between friends like us."
Harlow blushed and looked away. Please don’t tell me…
“And this,” the mayor said, “is amusing. What sort of outfit is this?”
His fingers brushed the lampshade perched atop my head. The form-fitting costume hugged every curve. It was more than I would usually wear, but refusing Harlow is impossible. Especially after she'd spent days in that tiny craft room of hers.
“She’s a lamp. While usually she is all darkness, I wanted her to brighten up the room.” Harlow smiled at me. “I also made her dress as a very specific lamp from one of my favorite Christmas movies. It's from the scene where the dad wins a lamp made to look like a woman’s leg.” Harlow threw her head back and laughed.
The mayor tilted his head and smiled at Harlow. “Perhaps we shall watch this movie together sometime.”
Harlow blushed. “Perhaps.”
I watched the interaction until I couldn’t take it anymore and gazed around the tented party. People decorated the tables with various types of flowers, from winter-themed to spring-themed. You could tell the originals from the humans because of the costumes being so different, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off some of them. I saw several Mothmen walking about, but none of them screamed Atlas.
They were too skinny, hunched over…
Then I saw him in the far corner of the tent. He wore an ironed plaid shirt, and perhaps his jeans were ironed too. He looked so nervous, holding onto a pole to keep himself upright. My lips quirked into a smile.
Did he do that so I would recognize him over the other Mothmen here?
There was no mistaking Atlas among the other Mothmen. While they moved with eerie grace, he stumbled across the tent, one hand gripping whatever surface he could find for balance. A laugh bubbled up in my throat as I watched him wobble forward. Whatever enchantment was supposed to keep him looking human clearly wasn't the issue; this awkward, endearing clumsiness was pure Atlas.
He’s so adorable.
Atlas took more steps toward me; it was like he was walking through tar in his own dream.
Harlow grabbed my hand and whispered in my ear. “Is he drunk? Can monsters get drunk?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Those vampires over there are drinking wine.”
