Today’s the day.

Today’s my day. I have always loved Hallowe’en and wished it could last longer. It’s a time when normal sensibilities are weakened and prone to collapse if the conditions are right, and inhibitions flicker uneasily as the darkening air stirs. The whole month of October leads up to it, of course. For the past few weeks the houses I skulk past have had bloody handprints on the windows, caution tape on the doors, and thick spider webs hanging from the trees. Hallowe’en is a beautiful time when being creepy isn’t just more socially acceptable, it’s commercially viable. Even the bank has bats in the windows. It’s also a time of monsters, and that is very good for me.

I pull my coat around me. Dark green. Bulky. Unassuming. I don’t want to draw undue attention this early. Even today I have to be the letter on the mantelpiece, hiding in plain view when possible. The wind has a sharp chill to it and the faintest threat of rain, but it looks like it will stay calm for now. Nothing to get in the way of the fun for the trick or treaters this afternoon. That’s nice. I always like to see the next generation enjoying the season as much as I do.

Rule 1: No kids.

The inoffensive weather also bodes well for tonight when the real monsters come out to play, by which I mean the students. That’s always an event to behold. Half naked and half in the bag, they’ll fill the streets with enough noise to wake the dead. They needn’t bother, of course. They’re already up. I appreciate the effort anyway, and it keeps eyes off me.

For now though, it’s the early afternoon, and I have a very different target in mind. It has been all I could think about for weeks. I am as excited as I am nervous – there’s always a risk – and I have to make sure that the excitement wins out. Anticipation is unstable like that. I check myself one last time, savouring the moment and allowing my instincts to blossom to the surface. Still safe. Nobody is paying me the slightest bit of attention. OK, yes, I’m scared too. It could go very, very wrong. It has done before. However, today is my day, and everything is just right.

I am stopped at the entrance by a giant glow-in-the-dark skeleton, who I didn’t notice despite both of those adjectives. Like everyone else, he doesn’t see me, but in his defence it’s because he’s made of plastic. He fails to ask me what I am doing here and I don’t feel the need to answer, but I nod him a good day and pass him by. The place is mostly empty. That’s good. I quietly approach the counter, and the man there has his back to me. This one is made of flesh and blood, so he should have no excuse. He turns to me, and there it is: the gasp. This is the moment of truth. In this instant he doesn’t know it, but the rest of my evening pivots on what he does next.

The gasp is always the worst part. What follows it is technically more dangerous: the scream, the cry, the culmination of the fight-flight-or-freeze impulse. The gasp, though, is always the same, and its predictability gives it an edge it wouldn’t otherwise have. Today’s the day, however. Today the social order is just off-kilter enough to add another option to the impulse: fascination. That’s what makes today so special.

I smile a well-rehearsed smile. Not too wide, not too menacing. It’s still far wider and more menacing than a regular human’s, with oh so many pointed teeth, but temper it so as not to cause a commotion. After the longest heartbeat of our lives, he returns it. The trap is sprung. He leans a little closer to inspect it.

“Wow,” he says, after a pause. His gaze darts between my dark eyes and the maw. “That’s amazing. It looks so real. Are you some sort of visual effects artist?”

“Thank you,” I respond, with an honesty he’ll never realise. It’s going so, so well. It’s hard not to keep my smile from widening further. Should I push my luck and risk a joke? “And no, I grew them myself.” Too far. Too much. It’s–

He laughs. Sharp, genuine, and professional. Either he’s good at his job or I’m good at mine.

“What can I getcha?” he asks. There’s a little contraction at the end, a lack of formality that indicates comfort. It’s business as usual.

In all my nervousness, I had forgotten to actually plan for things going right. I hastily check the board. I’m now in danger of being the sort of monster who gets to the counter without knowing what they want.

“Just a medium latte and…” (shelves, shelves, shelves) “…a cranberry orange muffin, please. Oh, er, eat in.” Nailed it. Mostly.

We wave our various devices at each other in a pantomime of commerce and he holds up a cup and pen.

“Scylla.” I smile again as he cocks an eyebrow at me. To hell with it, things are going well, so I’m having fun. “Surprise me.”

I find a quiet table in the corner closest to the door, facing mostly into the shop. It provides a clear view of the outside without exposing me to unwanted attention, with open sight lines but still reasonable control over who sees me and how much. I may still be frightful but it will be on my terms. I smile politely at another patron whose eye I catch. I can see the gasp, but the protective cloak of the season does its magic.

Something close enough to my name is called out. Today’s my day, but tomorrow it will be November and all of this will be gone. The mask will have to be replaced for another year. Normality will shore up its defences and the time of monsters will be over. I love Hallowe’en. I just wish it could last longer.