5

The prince entertained his friends in the make-believe castle on the stage. A confident and showy actor, glad of his moment in the sun, both in fiction and in reality. He was the lead and he was playing an extroverted and powerful man, what more could he want? This was his shot at stardom, his chance to show his parents, his teachers, and his so-called “friends” that he could make it as an actor and that his career wouldn’t be an assortment of television adverts and rejections.

He grabbed a fancifully dressed young maiden by the waist and spun her around. She did well not to spill the drink in her hand, but of course there was nothing in the glass, not now and not on the big night either. “Are you having fun, my dear?” he asked her as she pressed up against him.

“Why yes, Prince Prospero, I am.”

He twirled her again, and as he did so the others clapped and reveled in the gaiety. There would be music playing on the night, but for now that music was just in his head. This was the dress rehearsal, but he was a capable method actor and he knew how to set the scene.

“Well, then, my dear, you can be thankful that the night has only just begun.”

She giggled at that. It was all pompous, self-indulgent nonsense, but that was the director’s cue. It was his self-indulgent nonsense.

“Then I say let the night begin!” she declared. She raised her glass and the others followed suit. Just as she prepared to announce something else, they would hear the clock strike as it hit midnight. But right now, the director’s clap gave them the cue. At that point, they would turn to the audience, while from the aisle would walk the figure of the Red Death. He was an integral part of the story and everyone had been delighted with the idea to have him begin his walk through the audience. It was chilling, immersive.

The suit the actor wore was a little tacky and few of the others liked it, but as he approached, they noted this suit was different. It looked better, so much so that even the mediocre actor underneath—a product of nepotism and the director’s extended family—looked more menacing. They were drawn to his face at first, and then to the axe that swung casually by his side. It took them a few moments to notice his other hand, and the bloodied head it carried.

There were gasps and screams, revulsion and terror, and all of it was real. A few thought it was a trick, another ploy by a sadistic director using Hitchcockian techniques to terrify his actors, to instill the horror that their characters faced.

The director, initially with his back to the newcomer, turned around to face him. His reaction convinced the unbelievers. As much as he liked his tricks and his games, he looked just as scared as they did, and he wasn’t capable of faking it. “What is this?” he asked.

“This,” the man in the mask began, “is my favorite part of the story.”