When she was a little girl she'd heard somewhere that midnight was the witching hour. She was afraid to fall asleep between 12 and 1 o'clock. She figured that if something supernatural was going to get her, it would strike during that stretch of time.
As an adult, she enjoyed walking the streets at night. Everything was so quiet. It was like she had the city all to herself. Out of curiosity she took a detour to her apartment passing Beznik's Costume Shop. There was a light on inside. She could see movement. Betty hurried to the entrance and saw a crooked sign that read, "open." It was late and there was no one else around. Betty's training gave her the confidence to enter, and the awareness to be cautious. She approached silently, like she had to sneak up on the store so it wouldn't close on her. She crossed through the threshold in silence.
It was like stepping into a child's imagination or a madman’s attic. The space was a bazaar packed from floor to ceiling with a panoply of curious things. There where a hundred costumes dangling like they'd been hung to death. Above them, rows of decapitated, faceless heads displayed wigs of all styles and colors. Some wore hats.
Long glass cabinet counters lined the walls. They were filled with strange items like magic tricks, various detached mustaches, and rows of noses in all shapes and sizes. There was also a felt box with glass eyes of every color. This placed was filled with props to create any illusion or bring fantasies to life, but it didn't seem to have any living people.
It was hard to tell how big the store was since it was so congested. As she explored the wonders she discovered the place was actually divided into three vaults. One was devoted to magic. One was devoted to makeup. Costumes and masks filled the last one. There was no unused space.
Betty heard violin music rolling through the air and followed the sound to its source.
She spotted the Gypsy. He leaned over a glass counter, and a snifter with one swallow left. He swayed and hummed along with the tune coming from the Victrola. Betty watched as he played a game of solitaire with a card set. It had images of people and strange objects, but no numbers. He was a round man with dark skin. He had a friendly plump face with a prominent nose. He was balding, but had a thick black beard and mustache that he twirled as he concentrated on his game.
Betty interrupted. "Excuse me."
He was startled, but quickly regained his composure.
Betty continued. "You’re a hard person to find. I’ve come to your store dozens of times, but I always missed you."
He responded in a Romanian accent. "I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience, but money dictates where I must go."
He explained that the only time the storefront made money was during Halloween. To keep the store alive and to keep food on his table, he supplied the needs of the Citadel Theater District. The troops worked long hours and late nights. He often found himself running back and forth to his store to replace a missing prop, or a torn costume in the middle of a performance. He was glad to have a job, and he loved theater life, but he acted more like an errand boy than an artist.
In Europe, he was said to have been a consummate thespian. He was known as a master of disguise and would often play the parts of ogres, and monsters, and golems. Unfortunately, he was forced to abandon that life as Europe unraveled. So he immigrated to the United States two years ago. The Gypsy auditioned for many roles while in America, but unfortunately, domestic directors felt his accent was too thick for an American audience.
Betty thought his voice sounded like a friendly Dracula. She found it soothing.
The Gypsy felt idled. He was over skilled and under utilized. He was ready for a creative challenge. He was curious about Betty's desire. He asked. "Now that you've found me, what brings you to my store?"
She responded. "I want you to turn me into someone else."
A shiver ran through him. There could be no sweeter phrase in the English language. There was nothing he loved more than changing a woman's appearance. The gypsy had a transformation fetish and this girl would be a magnificent subject. To him she was a blank canvas. Everything about her was unassuming. She was a cute girl, the type any American boy could bring home to his mother. She could go completely unnoticed if she chose to. She had an innocent face with big round eyes, and everything else about her was average. She was an average height, had an average build. Her light brown hair was styled like a million other women. It was cut above her shoulders with pinned curls and waves. She was dead center of all the appearance extremes. She was perfect. He imagined all the guises he could mold her into. He was aroused by his anticipation, but hid it.
Betty asked. "Can you change me?"
"Of course I can." He chuckled. "Who do you want to be?"
"Someone different." She responded.