TRANSCRIPT - Episode 42: The Golden Mask
November 22nd, 2018

[Eerie theme music plays]

YOUR NARRATOR:

Good evening. Once again.

I have been wracking my brain trying to think of a story to tell you, but I've been having trouble. I'm not sure why.
Don't worry, I have one for you. I have many for you.
But, which one?

I've been thinking about you, in the general sense, for that's all I know of you. I know you are out there, listening. I know that I move from being aggressive and ungrateful towards you, to being desperate for your companionship. Isn't that something?

I have people. Creatures. I have them in my life. I just don't know, exactly, what we are to each other. 
I have a dark companion I travel with. He wants to understand life and love, but I don't know if he can. I sorrow for him, for this, but perhaps I ought to sorrow more for myself; who has no other choice but to travel with my ghastly beloved.  He breaks my heart.
There is a girl; a writer; you've met her. I've trusted her with my story. But she doesn't understand me. She doesn't understand what we are to one another. I'm not sure I do, but it doesn't make me love her less.  She breaks my heart.
There was a man, and then there was a ghost. One and the same. He loved me as a man, then he hated me as a ghost. Turned on me like a rabid dog, hating what I've become and what I want to be. He broke my heart. 

I don't think I can call any of these my friend. 
Perhaps this is why I call you my friend.
Is this astute? Do you accept that? 

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Let me just tell you a story.

There was once a wealthy woman who lived in a time and place where there was a great divide between those who have much and those who have little. But, then again, is that not most times and most places? 

She was a widow, but her mourning period had been short. She had not married for love, and so to be left alone with her husband's fortune was no tragedy to her. She thought of herself as someone who had many friends, but that wasn't quite the case, for she was not quick to do any kindnesses for anyone. She merely had guests. Guests who she would host at grand parties - a decadence she could more than afford several times a year. She would only invite the most aristocratic, impressive, well-to-do people...and the ironic thing was that they came to her parties and called her friend, though none of them would do her a kindness in a time of need, either. That wasn't the way of these people. Their way was to take what they needed and give as little as possible. They acted friendly in each other's presence, but were quick to mock and criticize the other behind their back. Everyone was jealous of everyone. And yet their greatest fear was being disliked. For all of their majestic halls and parties full of flowers and their love of everything that looked pure and beautiful, their souls were full of pain and ugliness. And none more so than this woman.

[Under the following a wistful melody is sung in French. The words are Victor Hugo's, from the poem "Demain, des l'aube"]

She hadn't always been like this. As a child, she grew up in the countryside, on a farm estate. Not poor, but not disgustingly wealthy. She hadn't had nearly the amount of friends she had now, but she did have one best friend. A strange little boy, dressed in torn rags in a style she had never seen before, from a neighboring home somewhere in the forest, where she wasn't allowed to go. He was much poorer than her, but they shared everything. They shared the summer sunrise, the soothing breeze over the hills, the tadpoles in the lake. They never noticed or cared about the differences in their families' wealth, for children don't notice such things. They only knew that running in the field together was the best feeling in the world. They knew each other's secrets and wishes. They knew each other's needs and wants before they could even voice it. If you have known a friendship like this, then you know how deeply it roots itself in your bones, in your blood, in your heart. How wonderful it can be. And how devastating it is when that bond is severed. 

"Will there be a day that you forget me?" The boy asked her once. 
"Never, ever." She answered.
"Do you promise?" He pressed.
"Cross my heart, and hope to die." 

Of course, Eventually, her father insisted she never see him again. She didn't know why, but he called the boy's family cruel names and suggested that they had no country, no god, no law, and worst of all, no money. She didn't understand what he meant, and she didn't know her family's obvious prejudice towards the boy's people, whoever they were. She had never even noticed he belonged to a different people. Until now. She obeyed her father. She was eventually married off without a thought to her extremely wealthy husband, for a handsome dowry. She never saw her family after that. She lost her best friend, and she had missed him at first with a woeful heart. But, her family had tossed her aside easily so soon after, and her heart was not big enough to fill with so much sadness. And so she learned a lesson early on, which was that people were only worth what money or recognition they could bring you. That was, after all, what she was worth to her parents. The lesson was learnt and learnt well. And she grew to be selfish and cruel, too. 

She woke up one morning, and had her servants dress her. In this time and place, a wealthy person getting dressed was an involved affair, with corsets and cages and bustles, that sort of thing. She put a beautiful diamond necklace on, then a huge white wig, which she had her servants powder along with her face. As was customary, she must disguise her real hair, the blemishes on her face, the shape of her body. Everything was a disguise. 

She had, in fact, a grand party planned, and soon. She had everything accounted for; the food, the wine, the music, the guest list. Everyone who was anyone would be in attendance, and she wanted to flaunt her riches. She wanted to look resplendent. She went out to purchase a new wig, a new dress, a new necklace, she didn't know. She just knew that she wanted to buy something. She had her driver take her only a few blocks away from the grand home she lived in in the city. The carriage rumbled its wheels against the cobblestone, and she ignored the beggars at her windows and the children crying from the cold. When she exited the carriage, she had a great skill of moving quickly and making herself blind to the less fortunate. Hours she spent trying on gowns, perusing the latest styles of ornate, powdered wigs, eating cakes and pastries and drinking champagne. She even selected a beautiful mask; it was to be a masquerade ball, and she wanted the most glorious mask of all. It was gold and ivory; at its forehead sprang the head of a golden bird, and from its temples stretched out two great golden wings. Ah, it was perfect. She would be the most opulent thing there. 

When she left the last store, just as the sun had only now begun to set, there was a man waiting outside, waiting for her outside her carriage. He wore brown, shabby clothes, in complete contrast with her beautiful gown. He was her age, she could tell, though his face was masked in shadow. And yet somehow, despite the fact that he was clearly beneath her in terms of money and class, he seemed...familiar. Like a long forgotten dream she once had. 

"Beautiful Lady," he said to her, removing his hat and bowing low, though in the dim light she still couldn't make him out. "May I ask one thing of you?" 

She stopped in her tracks. Normally she would ignore a person like this. But his eyes seemed to welcome her, and his voice echoed deep into her long-frozen heart, and she had to listen to him. "Yes?" Was all she said. 

"Your time," he said, and she caught the hint of a smile. "Just your time. A little time of yours, at the party you'll be hosting tomorrow. That is all I ask." 

She eyed him up and down, "I doubt you have an invitation," she said suspiciously. 

He shook his head,  "No. But I should like one. And I feel I am owed one."

She laughed. "I'm afraid that's impossible. My guests would be mortified."

He suddenly seemed so sad, so disappointed.  "It is not that I am too poor, but that your fine guests are too rich?"

This gave her pause. "I suppose you could say that, if you like."

He nodded somberly. And he tipped his hat once more and walked away. 

Who was he? Why did he presume to think that he could possibly come to her fete? 

She puzzled over this all night. She tried to tell herself it was ridiculous, the very thought of some pauper attending. Her guests would speak of nothing else for years to come. 

[Under the following, a pleasant melody is sung in "dum dee dee dahs", the ending to the song from before]
That night, she had a dream for the first time since she was a child. She never remembered her dreams, but this one burned into her mind and stayed there. She ran through the forest near her country home, into the part of the land she was forbidden from entering. And yet somehow she could picture it perfectly. And her best friend in the whole world, the only person she ever really believed, truly, to be her friend, her sweet soul mate, held her by the hand and led her through the trees. He didn't turn to look at her, and so she couldn't see his face, but still, they laughed, and they ran...

[The music that was sung before now plays in reverse, frightening and alien]
Until they reached a cliff side. The bluffs, that she was forbidden from playing near.
And her friend suddenly stopped laughing, and stood still as a statue. 
She felt, suddenly, terrified. 
He started to turn around. So slowly, it was almost imperceptible, this movement. But she didn't want to see his face. She was afraid to see his face. 
She woke up before she could. 

The next day was full of preparations for the party. She soon forgot the man at the shop and the dream from the night before. She was excited; she wanted the whole city talking about how she had outdone herself. 

The hour came. Oh, she had indeed outdone herself...the hall was bright and sparkling, crystals dripping from every corner of the room. Beautiful, delicate music rang out. The rich smell of incense and spices filled the air. And she wore a huge gown of gold and white, that took up an immense amount of space as she walked. Her hair was enormous, white as a swan and taller than even the wigs the ladies sported at Court. Her pure gold mask shimmered and shone. She indeed looked like a great golden bird. She was pleased. 

One by one, guests arrived. She greeted them with false joy and over-the-top affection. She loved the looks of outrage they tried to suppress when they saw just how extravagant she had been, and how they would have to spend a fortune to top her efforts. Everything was going as planned.
Over a hundred people came. The ballroom was full of dancing couples, the drinking of champagne, the telling of gossip. She danced, she drank, she gossiped. And while she did have a little bit of glee at the jealousy of others, it felt so much more hollow tonight. But she shoved that emptiness down and away into a secret place in her heart, and forgot about it. 
Until, late into the evening, she wandered around, making sure she spent a moment with everyone, making sure they saw her in all of her glory. As she walked around, she caught a glimpse of someone among the crowd; someone who made her heart stop. 
They wore shabby, brown clothes. Pauper's clothes. And yet their face was covered with a mask. 
Not just any mask; a golden mask, with great golden wings and a bird's head, and an ivory face. 
She couldn't believe it. She was told it was one-of-a-kind. It certainly had cost enough to ensure that it was one-of-a-kind. But apparently, even the poor could afford it. She felt a great rage, boiling within her. 
She tried to follow the figure through the crowd, but lost them. Turning around, she saw another guest in even dirtier rags, wearing the golden mask on their face. She tried to pursue this guest. Whirling around as if possessed, through every crack in the crowd and every corner she turned, there was a wretched individual, wearing the same golden mask as her. She was humiliated and furious. 
She called for her servants to come and eject these individuals; but no one came. 
In fact, the more she walked and the more she turned, the more she realized that the room was more and more crowded with these filthy tramps, wearing her mask...there must have been fifteen, no, twenty, no, thirty...even more. And it seemed the number of everyone else - the people she had invited - was dwindling and dwindling, until none of them were left. Realizing that all of her false friends, these rich, powerful people she had hoped so much to impress, were gone, she stood in the centre of the room, fuming. 
But the people in the gold masks stood around her, not moving. They didn't dance, they didn't drink, they didn't gossip. They just watched her. She tried to see their eyes from behind their masks, but was unable to. Many had bare feet and dirty hands, many were old, many were far too young; most looked hungry, most looked sick. 

"Get out!" She screamed at them. "Get out of my house!" 
They didn't move. 
"Why won't you go? What do you all want?" 
No one answered her. 

Then, the first one she saw - the one in the brown clothes that seemed somehow familiar - came forward. 
"You said your guests were too rich." It was that voice that she'd found so familiar...the one that belonged to that man from the night before. 
"Show your face," she shouted, pointing a finger at him. 
"Show your face," the entire crowd echoed in perfect time with each other. 

She ripped her mask off and threw it to the ground. The sight of it horrified her now. 
"Show your face," the crowd said again.
She didn't understand. She had taken her mask off. Now, she was past all patience. She went up to several individuals in the stony crowd, and began to pull their masks off. But, as she frantically did this to each guest she could get her hands on, they simply had another mask underneath, identical to the first. No matter how many she pulled, no one's face was revealed. She circled around in a frenzy, hearing over and over, "Show your face. Show your face. Show your face." Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She fell to the ground, screaming. She tore the wig off her head, her own disheveled, messy, neglected hair freeing itself. She tore at her enormous skirts, wanting to be out of them, out of the huge cage that kept them aloft. She tore at her corset, unable to breathe. She wiped the makeup off her face. A flurry of gold and white silk flashed in front of her eyes as she removed every part of her disguise. 

All that was left was a small, frightened woman in a plain white shift. She sat on the floor and she wept and she screamed, nothing more than a defeated, confused child. 

She heard calm, steady footsteps coming towards her. 

She found the courage to open her eyes. 

Everyone was gone. The room was empty. Almost empty. Except for one man.

The first man, the one in the brown clothes, the one from last night. 

"You forgot about me," she heard him say while he stood in front of her. 
She froze in place. She knew that voice. But, hadn't she known it all along?
"You crossed your heart." 

He lowered himself to the ground, where he sat across from her. 

She saw his face. And it was so clear. So clear that this was her old friend from so long ago.

[The sung "Demain, des l'aube" is heard again]
 He'd aged just as she had, or so it appeared. He was handsome and strong. 
As he sat in front of her, he said it again: "You crossed your heart."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I broke my promise. How can I make it up to you?" 

He shook his head, and suddenly he seemed to wither in front of her. His face became more drawn, his eyes more sunken. He looked ill, injured, hungry, weak. "You can't."
In front of her eyes, it seemed as though he was rapidly decaying. 
"No...no, no, no...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I take it all back." 
His voice echoed again, "You can't."
And his body, still growing increasingly frail and corpse-like, collapsed into her arms. She cradled him, not afraid anymore of his rags, or the dirt on his skin, or his sunken, deathly features. She held him close, and she wept. She wept for the friendship she'd thrown aside, and the promise she broke. She wept for her soul, which had lost its way so early in her life. She apologized over and over, but the man in her arms turned to bone and dust, and even that disappeared. And she was left alone. And then, she wept not for herself, but for him. For her only and best friend in the world, whom she had abandoned, and who must have died very recently, without a friend. And he did this last thing to her. Or, perhaps, for her. 

You see, I'm sure you must be sad for her, my friend. I was, when I heard the tale. 
But then, you must know what she did after that. 
She sold her great riches. She abandoned elaborate gowns and wigs and parties and champagne. She went forth and met people. Not the rich, influential people she already knew and had tried to impress. She met people from every walk of life. She talked to them, sincerely and honestly. She made friends, in every sense of the word, and she opened her home to them. Fed them. Made them laugh. Shared summer sunrises, soothing breezes, and lakeside tadpoles. 

And, at her death bed, (for I was there at her death bed), she told me she saw a little boy. A messy little boy wearing rags, laughing. And you know something? I saw him too. And shortly thereafter, I saw a little girl, holding his hand and laughing with him. A little girl who had not yet learned about the cruelties that society can breed so readily; but who instead knew only of friendship and kindness, and its laughter, its light, its love. I knew at that moment that she had died. But I don't think we really die. I don't know. But I did see two children run away, out of the room and down the stairs and into the night, laughing as they went. 

Don't be sad. I don't want you to be sad. 
I want you to be my friend. 
Goodnight, my friend.

[Eerie theme music plays]

[Speaking out of character, as Kristen:]

Hello everyone, this is Kristen speaking - I am your mysterious writer for this mysterious show and I am here to say thanks so much for listening to Episode 42 of On a Dark, Cold Night.

Let's kick things off with a huge thank you, that's going out to Kimberly Foley. Kimberly became a patron of the show on Patreon, and pledged $10 a month to supporting On a Dark, Cold Night. I am absolutely...beyond words. Kimberly also wrote a really lovely review on our Patreon page, which I'll share with you here...she writes: "Kristen Zaza has created a wonderful podcast. She writes, composes music and narrates bedtime ghost stories. Her mesmerizing voice and amazing storytelling has become my new night time ritual which allows me to drift off to blissful sleep. If you to have challenges with getting to sleep, give her a try! I bet you find this much better than counting sheep!! Enjoy!!" Thank you so very much! I can't tell you how much I appreciate the support and the kind words.

If you want to help out on Patreon as well, you can find me there at patreon.com/darkcoldnight. I'm coming up with some bonus material to share with patrons there, which I'm super excited about. You can also contribute on Ko-fi; you can buy  me a coffee there at ko-fi.com/darkcoldnight.

A free way to help out is to listen to the show on the RadioPublic app. It's free for you to use, but every listen I receive there counts towards a Paid Listen for me, so it's pretty much a win-win! Check out what they're doing over at RadioPublic, it's a really neat initiative.

Finally, if you like what I do, I'd also love it if you left a review for the show on iTunes, Stitcher, Podknife, or anywhere else you want to share words about the show - social media is also great. You can follow me and write your thoughts on Twitter, I'm @ADarkColdNight; Instagram, I'm darkcoldnightpodcast, and I have a Facebook page as well.

Anyway, thank you again for listening. Time moves on, as it does, and it's almost December, which is pretty unbelievable to me. But we're perpetually fascinated by the fact that the calendar moves quickly, aren't we?
At any rate, have a great night everyone, and a great week. Until next time.


[Eerie theme music plays]