Come like shadows, so depart!”
Eight cloaked figures rose in the back row of the audience. A girl sitting beside them squealed in surprise. They glided toward the center aisle and began to descend (more third-years? I wondered) while James watched in wide-eyed horror. “What,” he said, “will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?”
My heart leapt up into my throat. I stepped into the light for the second time, blood slick and gleaming on my skin. James gaped up at me, and the audience all turned together. Stifled screams fluttered on the surface of the silence.
“Horrible sight,” James said, weakly. I started down the stairs again, raising my arm to point and claim the eight cloaked figures as my own. “Now, I see, ’tis true; / For the blood-bolter’d Banquo smiles upon me, / And points at them for his.”
I lowered my hand again and they disappeared, melted into the surrounding shadows as if they had never existed. James and I stood ten feet apart before the fire. I gleamed crimson, grim and bloody as a newborn baby, while James’s face was ghostly white.
“What, is this so?” he said—it seemed—to me. A strange, swelling silence followed. We both leaned forward without moving our feet, waiting for something to happen. Then Meredith came between us.
“Ay, sir,” she said, and dragged James’s gaze away from me. “All this is so: but why / Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?”
He allowed himself to be led away, back to the fire and the tempting attentions of the witches. I climbed to the top of the steps, stopped there and lingered, to haunt him. Twice his eyes wandered my way, but the audience was watching the girls again. They reeled around the fire, cackling up at the stormy sky, and began to sing once more. James looked on for a moment, aghast, then turned and fled the firelight.
ALL: “Double double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble—
Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,
Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf…”
While Meredith and Wren carried on the dance, their movement wild and violent, Filippa lifted up a bowl that had been hidden deep in the sand. A red and viscous liquid sloshed against the sides, the same false blood that prickled on my skin.
ALL: “Double double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon’s blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.”
Filippa upended the bowl. There was a sickening splash, and everything went black. The audience surged to its feet in a roar of glee and confusion. I sprinted back into the cover of the trees.
When the lakeside lights came on—weak orange bulbs flickering weirdly at the edges of the beach—the shore was alive with shouts and laughter and applause. I doubled over in the cool forest darkness, hands on my knees, breathing heavily. I felt like I’d just outrun a landslide. All I wanted was to find the other fourth-years and share a sigh of relief.
But quiet celebration was not to be had. Halloween demanded a party of bacchanalian proportions, and it didn’t take long to begin. As soon as the faculty and the more timorous first-and second-years had gone, kegs appeared as if conjured by some lingering magic, and music came thudding through the speakers that had so eerily magnified Richard’s voice. Alexander was the first of us to emerge, staggering out of the water like a drowned man reanimated. Admirers and friends from other disciplines (there were many of the former, few of the latter) surrounded him, and he regaled them with a thrilling tale of treading water for over an hour. I waited in the safety of the trees a little longer, well aware that I was covered in blood and it would be impossible not to draw attention to myself. Only when I spotted Filippa did I venture back out onto the beach.
As soon as the light hit me, people shouted congratulations, reached out to slap my back and tousle my hair before they realized how sticky I was. By the time I made my way to Filippa, two plastic cups foaming over with beer had been forced into my hands.
“Here,” I said, and passed one to her. “Happy Halloween.”
Her eyes flicked from my bloody face to my dirty bare feet and back again. “Nice costume.”
I plucked at the sleeve of her dress, which was still damp and mostly transparent. “I like yours better.”
She rolled her eyes. “Think they’ll try to get all of us completely naked this year?”
“There’s always the Christmas masque.”
“Oh God, bite your tongue.”
“Seen the others?”
“Meredith’s off looking for The Voice. No clue about James and Wren.”
Alexander excused himself from his audience and barged between us, hooking an arm around each of our necks. “That went about as well as could be expected,” he said. Then, “What the fuck? Oliver, you’re filthy.”
“No, I’m Banquo.” (He had been back under the boat for both of my scenes.)
“You smell like raw meat.”
“You smell like pond water.”
“Touché.” He grinned and rubbed his palms together. “Shall we get this party properly started?”
“How do you propose we do that?” Filippa asked.
“Get drunk, get loud, get lucky.” He pointed a finger pistol at her. “Unless you have a better idea.”