Oddest of All (14 page)

Harley glanced around.

The forest seemed darker than when he had first entered.

“It's just because there are more trees to block the light,” he told himself, swallowing nervously. He wondered if he should go back. Annie would certainly have passed the entrance to the path by now, so he could get home without having to face her. On the other hand, for years he had wanted to see what was down here; now that he had finally started along the path he might as well go on for a way. Gary had told him it led to a small lake where the teenagers sometimes went skinny-dipping. Of course, it was too cold for that now. Even so, it would be interesting to see the lake. Harley wondered how far it was.

Fifteen minutes of walking brought him out of the woods and onto a broad shelf of rock that did indeed border a small and quite beautiful lake. To Harley's surprise, on the far side of the lake he saw a cluster of buildings, almost like a little town. It made sense, in a way. Most of the lakes he had been to had had places for tourists to shop. But why had he never seen or even heard of this town, which was so close to home?

He spotted a faint path leading around the lake, and decided to follow it.

The water was still and quiet in the late October afternoon. Brilliantly colored leaves drifted on its surface, touched to fiery brightness by the sun's rays, which came slanting in under a clouded gray sky. The sight should have been lovely. Yet something about it made Harley nervous, as if he sensed currents in the lake that he could not see, much less understand.

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

 

E
LIVES
M
AGIC
S
UPPLIES

S. H. E
LIVES
, P
ROP
.

 

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:

 

 

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, when 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.”