Charity's Ball

CHARITY’S BALL

         The first day of October blew autumn’s spirited breath onto the sleepy little town of Proctor, waking every Rumplestiltskin from the eleventh hour of their half-life existence. The month had a purpose that would culminate in the climax of the annual Monster’s Ball.

         October 1st was also Charity’s birthday, although no one acknowledged it. She was born from the union of a clairvoyant and a shaman forty years earlier. Choosing to stay slightly removed from the acquiescent spell that had claimed the souls of most of its citizens, Charity lived in a small cottage fringed on the outskirts of town.

         Foresight told her that at the stroke of midnight on November 1st, they would all return to their comfortably numb lives, oblivious to the fabric of Earth’s magic veil. Tired old spinsters would resume the systematic placation of school-aged children while farmers attempted to coax healthy vegetation from dusty fields and shop keepers pursued their quiet lives hidden behind glass-fronted facades.

         This year, something would be different. Charity diligently delved into perfecting a potion that would ignite a spark into Proctor’s compliant masses. Her elixir was borne from the good things of Earth, like rose petal extract and butterfly wings, assuring a beautiful transformation when blended into her spiced apple cider, a mainstay on the refreshment table at the Monster‘s Ball. There were twelve other ingredients, all measured and weighed with precision and purpose. Charity’s cider was a by-product of a thriving apple orchid, a legacy established by her parents the year she was born. Last year, she dabbled in the sweet mystery of those red-skinned wonders, bringing a smile to everyone that imbibed in her cider.

          October’s days were sustained with haunted musings flying piggyback on gargoyle wings through spider-webbed trails. Proctor’s citizens perfected costumes that would redefine their identities for six magical hours. Ogres, fairies, demons and ghouls busied themselves with fantasy’s details ‘til the final moments leading up to the ball. Charity wore her mother’s vintage black velvet cape and her father’s sacred headpiece, featuring authentic owl eyes for wise foresight and eagle feathers for fearless nobility.

         Finally, the day of magic arrived. Uncharacteristic mayhem filled Main Street as the town hall was readied with carved jack-o-lanterns, crepe paper skeletons and bed-sheeted ghosts. Caught by the silvery moon’s spell, the sun dropped compliantly behind the mountainside landscape, shadowing the town’s haughty activities. The air was thick with the scent of torched flints, shimmering amber smoke in captivating hues.

          Citizens poured from their homes to exchange tricks or treats while converging on the town hall. Apple-bobs and Pin The Tail On The Donkey entertained the youngsters in the south hall as costumed adults indulged in two-step Dose`-Does, kept in time by a lone fiddle. The refreshment table was relished and detailed with roasted mutton, squash casserole and curried chowder. Generous servings of pumpkin bread and plum pudding filled the dessert table and encircled the punch bowl, brimmed with Charity’s thirst-quenching cider.

         James, the town mechanic, snuck up from behind her line of vision and startled Charity momentarily. This was one of the few times that he didn’t have grease marks smeared across his otherwise attractive face. Charity considered James to be one of the least compliant citizens of Proctor, making him tolerable company. “May I have this dance, Miss Charity?“

          She accepted his invitation while keeping a watchful eye on the punch bowl and making mental tallies of every refill. She had performed numerous tests on field mice and tree squirrels and was fairly confident the human condition would benefit from her special ingredients.

         James was particularly attentive in his Robin Hood attire. His feathered suede cap and flowing cape anointed him with spontaneous chivalry and charm she fought hard to resist. Three dances later, with no signs of stopping, the fiddler quickened the pace to the point of distraction. Charity temporarily lost sight of the dessert table, swept up by James’ undeniable charisma. “Oh my, I need a moment to recover!” she exclaimed while fanning her flushed cheeks.

         “Okay, but only for a moment! Then I‘m going to steal you away for more dances.” he winked at her suggestively. Charity was puzzled by James’ flirtations. She composed herself while approaching the refreshments, swarmed by anxious patrons. The food table was still brimming with untouched food portions, while the cider bowl required spontaneous refills by the attending hostess.

         “Is this what you want, Charity?” James appeared before her with two cups filled to the brim with her cider.

         “How did you get that so quickly?” Charity exclaimed.

         “ I took the liberty of reserving one of your gallons for private consumption. This makes my fourth serving. I remembered how delicious it was last year and wanted to make sure we didn’t run out of your wonderful cider. After all, I am Robin Hood, remember…. rob from the rich and give to the poor, err, or in this case, the thirsty,” he smirked at her.

         “Your fourth cup?” Charity gulped the words. She wasn’t sure if that much cider would have an adverse affect, but her panic-stricken gut was screaming. Then she began noticing other details. The demons projected wicked auras while the witches were cackling in high pitched tunes. The ghosts were lucid and the skeletons walked with slinking fragility. Even the scarecrow seemed to have lost his backbone. Dracula’s nostrils were flaring with a fixation on his wife’s vampire throat. Could this be possible? Could her cider actually be the catalyst for the costume to consume the persona of each individual wearing it? James’ transformation into the thieving, yet alluring character he mimicked was certainly leading credence to that hypothesis. And how far could this go? Would the demons and vampires be able to do permanent damage? Or even worse. . . . . take a life? Shades of a Snow White Fairytale gone horribly wrong filled her head, and she was the evil witch!

         There was only one thing to do. Drink the cider - quickly! She accepted the cup from James and swallowed the contents. First, there was a warm tingling sensation as the gothic brew splashed over her tongue and rolled down her parched throat. Her pale skin flushed for a moment, raising her body temperature several degrees. The ether washed through her and penetrated her essence, allowing her spirit to mesh with the surrounding air. Magically, Charity was at one with the universe. The elusive state of being she had pursued for most of her life was suddenly thrust upon her like a snakebite.

         Estrangement from her physical self was immediate. She wafted toward the ceiling, observing the chaos assembly of lost souls. Becoming a third-person voyeur of James’ pursuits while still in the first person granted fleeting pleasure. Delirium ruled, keeping time with the fiddler’s dizzying pace. Her airborne vantage point only served to validate her fears and although grateful for the experience, she frantically scanned for clues to calm havoc’s confusion.

         “Charity, what have you done?” a feminine voice whispered inside her head. She instantly recognized her mother’s tender tone.

         “Mother! Thank God, you’re here. I was trying to ignite a spark in everyone. Instead, demons and vampires have interceded and taken over. What can I do to fix this? Can you help me?” Charity responded to the familiar voice, accepting the maternal presence had no physical attributes.

         “There is no incantation or spell that can reverse the effects of your brew. Only time will dissipate its influences.”

         “How much time?”

         “At midnight, the apples will become disenchanted and order will return.”

         “Midnight? The apples?”

         “Your apples grant special gifts for thirty-one days. Adding other ingredients greatly intensified the effects. The citizens of Proctor are caught in the end cycle of the magic. Their revelry and abandon are acting as catalysts tonight.”

         “Why didn’t you tell me about the apples?”

         “It was my hope that you would discover their splendor on your own.”

         “I had a sense, but had I only known….”

         “What would you have done differently?” her mother questioned.

         “I don’t quite know. Certainly not this,” she replied while scanning the hall of confusion below.

         “Are you sure?”

         “What do you mean?”

         “You live a solitary life, yet seek the splendors of the universe in your self-contained world. You are alive inside, yet your wisdom remains detached. You long to ignite a spark in others, but in truth it is your flame that needs to be fanned.”

         “I’m not unhappy.”

         “Unfulfilled perhaps?”

         “Perhaps.”

         “Changing the personalities of your neighbors can’t provide what’s missing inside you.”

         “I was aiming for something else. Most days, they are caught up in how much milk the Stewart cow gave, or whether Proctor General Store will lower the price of their homemade fudge. Some afternoons, the men entertain themselves with guessing games regarding the lengths of women’s skirts. They miss so much of life here in Proctor.”

         “And it’s your self-appointed job to change that?”

         “Well, no. I guess I was hoping to heighten their senses….to wake their spirits…to make them see the beauty in a sunrise, the magic of a perfect sunset, or the splendor found in a child’s imagination.”

         "I don’t doubt your intentions. It’s your methods that are in question.”

         “So, have I done any permanent damage? What will become of these people at midnight?"

         “They will return to themselves and probably not remember much of the night’s details. Although there may be some lingering residual effects. But what of you, Charity? What will become of you?”

         “I guess I need to rethink a few things. I see now that I can’t change these people, and that I shouldn’t want to. They are who they are and only they can change that.”

         “Charity, you‘ve been given many gifts….more than most. You need to focus on the proper use of them. Tonight proved you have much to learn. The repercussions of this event may take months, or even years to surface. Practicing magic on unsuspecting subjects is not something you should pursue. I realize my departure was abrupt and didn‘t allow the proper time for mentoring your skills. The universe can forgive ignorance perhaps once, but should there be a next time, I may not be able to intercede.”

         “I understand. It won’t happen again.”

         “See that it doesn’t,” the invisible voice began to fade out, hinting her mother’s imminent departure.

         “Mother, please stay. I still need you. I have so many questions.”

         “And you must find the answers. You have all the ingredients, Charity. It’s within your power to perfect the recipe. I love you, child.”

         “I love you….” Charity slid back into her body while sadly staring up at the ceiling. The clock had magically slipped past 11:30 as she found a quiet corner and patiently observed the lingering effects of her cider. As predicted, peace was restored at the stroke of midnight. Confused parents collected their tired children and returned home in orderly fashion.

         Charity stayed behind until nothing remained but the memories and crepe paper remnants. Snuffed candle wicked scents mixed with the thickened midnight air, as she recalled the enigmatic visit with her mother. The empty town streets glimmered from the light of the full golden moon as she slowly made her way back home. Order was restored and for the first time, Charity took comfort in the empty rocking chairs lining the porches of every home along the way She smiled gratefully while imagining the people who would be sitting in them tomorrow afternoon. Charity entered her cottage and shut the door on all things October.

         The first day of November was ushered in with a properly bright morning sun. Charity woke with a gnawing need to re-visit the scene of her crime. She coyly approached Main Street, scanning for signs of normal life. There was none to be found. Instead, she heard magic in the animated voices of the towns people. Gregarious laughter and glee were contagious symptoms displayed by everyone she encountered.

         “Morning, Miss Charity. That was some Monster's Ball last night,” Mr. Stewart exclaimed while tipping his hat toward her. He appeared to have a slight bounce in his otherwise sanguine stature.

         “Yes, it was,” Charity cautiously replied.

         “Wonderful cider, Charity,” Mrs. Lark commented as she strolled past a few ladies standing nearby.

         “Yes, it was particularly tasty this year,” another voice added.

         “Thank you, ladies. It was a little different this time,” Charity meekly responded.

         “Give me your cider or give me your kiss!” A familiar voice crept up from behind Charity and whispered in her ear.

         “James!” Charity spun around and shrieked.

         “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed dancing with you last night, Charity.” James smiled, his face clean shaven and still void of grease.

         “Why thank you, James. Yes, I can’t recall the last time I’ve danced that much. The evening was….um….quite memorable, to say the least.”

         “Charity, I was wondering….,” James slowly muttered while staring down at the ground to collect his thoughts and his confidence.

         “James, why don’t you come by for some tea after work today. I’ve got a new recipe for pumpkin pie I’ve been wanting to try, and…..”

         “I’d love to,” he anxiously replied. “But, perhaps we could have some more of your wonderful cider?”

         “Sorry, James. The cider is all gone. There’s not a drop left.”

         “Then tea it is….until next year.”

         Charity just smiled, considering the residual effects.