Nobody seems to know

The crowd cheered. People clapped and whistled, treating it like part of the party, some bit someone had planned. Peter didn’t clap. He watched the two women in the assistant outfits stand off to the side of the cleared space, still not smiling.

The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a small pouch. He held it up for a second, then slammed it hard onto the floor in front of him. A large plume of thick white smoke exploded upward, filling the room fast. Peter coughed. So did most of the people around him. The smoke burned his throat and made his eyes water. For a few seconds he couldn’t see anything past his own hands.

When the smoke finally cleared, the floor in the front of the room had changed. A large purple carpet lay where the bare wood had been. Playful decorations hung from the walls, streamers, little lights, shapes that hadn’t been there a minute ago. A banner stretched across the back wall of the cleared space that read “Welcome to the Devil’s Crypt” in bold purple and gold letters.

Peter blinked hard. That wasn’t possible. He looked around. Other people looked confused too, but the cheering had mostly stopped. The man stood on the carpet like it had always been there, dusting off his hands.

Something else caught Peter’s eye. A group of jocks, big guys in full football gear, pads and jerseys and all, treating the pads as their Halloween costumes, had formed a tight huddle off to one side. They were speaking to the man in the mask. He leaned in, said something short. The jocks did a low, grunted cheer that Peter couldn’t make out, then broke the huddle and mixed back into the crowd like nothing had happened.

The man turned back to the room. “Ahh, apologies, folks. I assure you that was not part of the main act. Just some insurance for later!” He smiled under the mask. “Now! Who all are interested in becoming volunteers for my special hypnosis show?”

He asked it in that same theatrical voice, arms spreading with a flourish.

Hypnosis show? Seriously? Peter thought. This was getting weird. But to his surprise, a bunch of hands went up around the room. Some people laughed as they raised them. Others just lifted their arms like they were volunteering for a game.

“Ohh, so many lovely volunteers!” the man said. “Let’s get this show started then. Please join me here at the front!”

He beckoned them forward. People started moving. Soon a group stood in a loose line on the purple carpet in front of him. Peter smirked into his cup. He knew they must all be plants. Friends of whoever had planned this bit. No one just walked up for a hypnosis show at a random Halloween party.

Then his eyes landed on one of them and his smirk died.

Rose stood in the line. His sister, in her goofy brown bodysuit and the bottle-shaped cover, the little cap hat still on her head. She looked dazed. Her eyes were half-lidded, mouth slightly open, like she wasn’t sure where she was or how she’d gotten there. The same blank expression sat on the faces of the other volunteers around her.

Peter’s stomach dropped. He wanted to yell out. He wanted to call her name and tell her to step back, to get off that carpet. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He tried to step forward. His feet stayed planted. His arms felt heavy. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak loud enough to cut through the noise. All he could do was stand there in the corner with his plastic cup and watch his sister stand in that line with the same empty look as everyone else.

The man in the purple mask turned toward the line of volunteers and clapped his hands once, sharp. The sound carried. Peter’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. He still couldn’t move.

The man in the devil mask walked to the first person in line. Peter’s eyes widened. It was Yasmin. He hadn’t even noticed her leave his side. How had he missed her moving from next to him all the way to the front of the room? She stood there now, the genie lamp still dangling from her hand, her expression just as blank as Rose’s.

The hypnotist pulled a small microphone from inside his jacket sleeve and held it near Yasmin’s mouth. “And who might you be tonight, my dear?” he asked.

Yasmin blinked slowly, then looked into the mic like she’d just remembered it was there. “Yasmin,” she said. Her voice sounded dull. “I’m… supposed to be a genie. If it isn’t obvious.” She gave a small chuckle that had no humor in it.

“Oh, it’s quite obvious,” the man replied, smiling. “And have you granted any wishes tonight?”

Yasmin furrowed her brow. “Wishes?” she repeated, confused.

Before she could say more, the man pressed a gloved hand over her face. “Sleep!” he commanded sharply.