“The way you handled him was amazing, though” said Carmilla. “I could never do something like that.”
“That’s not Richard,” said Miranda. “He’s not like that. I think it’s the mask. You remember how we’re not supposed to take them off? I think the masks are doing something to everyone. As soon as I took mine off I felt better.”
“No,” said Carmilla. “It’s not just the mask, it’s the people. Didn’t you feel it when you put yours on? It’s like the mask knows you. Like it’s your oldest friend and it knows everything about you without having to be told.” She touched her veil.
“Mine didn’t,” said Miranda.
“I guess you’re special…” said Carmilla.
The door shook as something banged against it from outside, and Miranda jumped.
“You know, I like this dress,” said Carmilla. “It makes me feel beautiful but used up.”
“Carmilla, help me move the table before he breaks the door down.”
“And I liked being a vampire,” said Carmilla, not listening. “I’ve always felt cold inside, and I never cared when I saw something bad happen to someone. I used to wonder if I really am a monster.”
More banging on the door. “Do you see another way out of this room?” said Miranda.
“I wish I could be like you instead,” said Carmilla.
“I think—” said Miranda, and then she felt a pain in her wrist. She jerked her hand up, and Carmilla backed away a few steps.
“Did you…did you just bite me?” said Miranda.
“I’m sorry,” said Carmilla. “It would have worked if I hadn’t broken my fangs earlier. We’ll have to use this instead.” She was holding a knife from off the table. She took a few steps forward.
Miranda backed away. “Carmilla, what are you doing?”
“Just hold still,” said Carmilla. “I got carried away with the guy earlier, but I know what I’m doing now. I promise it won’t hurt.”
Miranda put the table between them. Carmilla edged along the side of it. Richard was hitting the door harder and harder and from somewhere nearby the sound of music and hysterical voices seeped through the walls.
“It’s not my fault,” said Carmilla. “I just want to be like you. You’re beautiful, and brave, and strong, and I’m not. But if I have some of you inside me, maybe I will be. You wouldn’t keep it all for yourself, would you? Friends share, don’t they?”
Carmilla darted forward and Miranda ran. Carmilla stumbled and caught herself on the tablecloth, sending dishes crashing to the floor. Miranda was about to scream, but at that moment the door broke in and the chair went flying and Richard grabbed Carmilla from behind, throwing her to the floor.
“Richard, no!” said Miranda. She grabbed his mask and tore it off. His stood there, shaking and pale, eyes wide, frozen in place.
“Richard, can you hear me?” She shook him by the shoulders. “I need you to hear me. I need you to—”
Because her arms were up his slap only half-connected. She fell against the wall, and he took a second to put his mask on before coming at her. Then Carmilla jumped on his back and the two fell in a heap. Miranda watched them struggle, but when Richard pinned Carmilla down she turned and ran,
Carmilla’s screams and Richard’s howls following her down the hall.
She ran into the first door she came to and heard it slam behind her. She spun around and tugged at the knob but it wouldn’t budge. She heard the ticking of the clock and felt the black walls closing in.
“Enjoying the party?” said the Red Death.
“What did you do to Richard?” said Miranda.
“Nothing,” said the Red Death. He had one hand on the side of the grandfather clock. “I just gave him license. The rest he did himself.”
“But I took his mask off,” said Miranda.
“It’s very late in the evening now,” said the Red Death. “They won’t need to wear their masks anymore. Did you think the masks were magic? It doesn’t work like that. There’s no need put people under a spell. Just tell them that they can do whatever they want and let them think that putting on a mask is like changing into another person and that’s all the incitement they need. Can’t you hear them now?”
Through the walls Miranda heard sounds: screaming, moaning, hysterical laughter, voices crying out in horrible ecstasy.
“What are they doing?” she said.
“Some of them want to act like monsters, and some of them want to be victims, and some of them want to be tragic, or even just fuck anything that moves,” said the Red Death.
“But you’ve tricked them,” said Miranda. “You must have. People aren’t all like that.”
“The people I bring to my parties are. Except for you: I was wrong about you,” he said. “You don’t deserve to be here at all. It’s very rare that I misjudge someone. So I’m going to do something else I almost never do: I’m going to let you go.”
The door opened, and instead of the hall she saw the beach outside.
“That door will take you to freedom,” said the Red Death. “Go now, before the last stroke of midnight.”
“What happens then?” said Miranda.
“Haven’t you read the story?” He recited in a sing-song voice: “‘And one by one dropped the revelers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall, and Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion, over all.'”
“No!” said Miranda. “You can’t!”
“It’s already started.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how the story ends. But it doesn’t have to end that way for you. Go now. Run and don’t look back.”
Miranda grabbed his robes and shook him. She tore the skull mask off, and underneath it his hood was empty, and the red robes went limp in her hands, and the entire costume fell, vacant, to the floor.
“Run,” said the voice of the Red Death, from all around her. “Run, Miranda. It’s time.”
The clock began to toll.
One.
Miranda looked at the open door.
Two.
She went to the clock. She had to stop the chimes. She pulled on the door to the works, but it was stuck.
Three.
She looked around for something, anything, to break it with, but the room was empty.
Four.
She beat the glass with her hands.
Five.
“It’s too late,” said the voice of the Red Death.
“Not yet,” said Miranda.
Six.
A breeze blew through the door. The red robes and mask fluttered around her feet.
Seven.
Miranda picked them up. She turned the mask over in her hand.
Eight.
“What are you doing?” said the Red Death.
“What you told me to do: Anything I want,” she said.
Nine.
She put the robes on. They were very cold. She held up the mask.
Ten.
“I can be whoever I want tonight, right?” Miranda said. “I’ve decided I want to be you.”
Eleven…
Miranda put the mask on. When she opened her eyes, she could see into every room in the house, and feel the walls and floors as though they were her own body. She stopped the clock just before the final stroke.
With a gesture she threw the doors open in every room. Mobs of frenzied partiers stopped in the midst of their revels. Every door now led outside.
“The party is over,” Miranda said, her voice audible in every room. “Get out.”
No one moved.
“Out!” Miranda said again, and then the walls shook and the floors rippled, mirrors and paintings falling as furniture overturned. People mobbed the exits, trampling each other as they poured out onto the foggy beach.