With a shiver I closed the book. Edgar Allan Poe's "Masque of the Red Death" always held a certain morbid fascination for me, no matter how often I read it. I finished the last drops of the red wine on my bedside table and turned off the light. Cuddling into my covers as if they were the arms of a fantasy lover I surrendered to the misty shrouds of dream land that seemed to reach out to me with foggy fingers.
"Masquerade, Masquerade – grab your masque and don't be late ..." I hadn't been listening to the Halloween song for ages, now it was humming in my head as a bunch of wild revelers took me by the hand and pulled me away into a mad polonaise. Without a will of my own, helpless to resist the flow of the insanely dancing crowds, I was washed away. Surrounded by colors and forms, suddenly as bright as the rainbow, then again without distinction of shapes or colors, I drifted away to unknown places.
And then I started to see. Closer looks revealed costumes of all kinds – birds of paradise with mighty plumage and heavy beaks, ghostly dancers seeming to be only skin stretched over bones, baroque Ladies, with powdered wigs and pale faces, but brightly glowing cheeks and oversized beauty spots, their once precious gowns tattered and torn, but they seemed not to care.
A feverish mood engulfed the weird company I found myself part of. The laughter and fun were on the brink of hysteria it seemed – and although there was music playing and people talking and singing I felt like I was wrapped into invisible layers of cotton wool.
As little as the sounds seemed to reach my conscious mind though, as clear, almost exaggerated, was my awareness of the touches of the crowds.
The further we went, the tighter the crowds seemed to get. I felt the tickle of the majestic feathers against my cheeks as we were proceeding further and further onward into the night under a violet moon. All of a sudden the moon was gone and I found myself in a giant ball room that seemed to have jumped right out of the old movies about kings and queens that held court in medieval times. Alas, there was no sign of the expected splendor. The flags hung ragged and limp. The tapestry faded a and worn – and an air of decay covered the room like a layer of spider webs, invisible and unnoticed till you give a closer look or find yourself entangled in them.
Ghostly – that was the word. The music had changed to pipes and flutes, but the harmonies were distorted and shrill. Nobody seemed to realize or care. Slowly out of breath I was still pushed and pulled along by the insane polonaise that the crowds were dancing like puppets on strings. What had been light and careless fun all of a sudden seemed to swap into hysteria and all my attempts to break free and pause for a moment were rewarded with hands holding me tight in my place in line, by giant beaks dangerously pointing my way and defeating my attempts of breaking from the chain.
Down a long corridor we danced, barely lit by candles that were discarding a flickering treacherous light. Black curtains veiled the windows and the outside world seemed to have disappeared, leaving the revelers stranded on an island of insanity and decadence.
Faster and faster the colors whirled around me – leaving me breathless and without focus or orientation... till I stumbled. In a fit of panic I tried to grasp whatever came in my reach to steady myself, not sure if the milling crowds around would have even paused for a moment to let me get back onto my feet again. Nothing though – nothing that would support me, instead, malicious grins of those who realized I couldn't keep up the frenetic dance any longer.
