The latest outfit from the Aunt Betsy Collection was a shapely two-piece suit with a knee length skirt and button-up jacket in (of course) lavender. Early in the evening she played a game beneath a giant spinning saw blade which she confidently sent off in the direction of her opponent, who was now also in two pieces. This victory left Betsy able to accompany Hyacinth to a room in the cellar where a special open tournament was to be held.

The acid pool was set in the floor right up against a wall, about two metres square with an equal space on either side and a fair amount of empty room space remaining to accommodate spectators. The liquid in the pool was acrid greeny-yellow with little bubbles rising to the surface. Corrosive material warning signs were clearly displayed around the walls, some with a graphic of a disintegrating skull. A heavy plastic coated rope was stretched across the pool, the trailing ends coiled at the bottom of the walls on either side.

There was an open sign-up for this event. Any spirits who wished could take part, challenging each other in a single bout of tug of war to try and pull the other into the acid. As we had proposed the game, it was decided that Hyacinth would immediately compete in the first round against Bad Ted, a mysterious individual wearing an all over brown onesie with ears on the hood and a freakishly painted bear mask. Looking across the pool at this creature through the creepy, industrial lighting, knowing Hyacinth would be ending up in the pool one way or another, my heart was pounding. I didn't know how competitive Bad Ted would be, if I'd be pulled in straight away. I wasn't even sure anymore that it wasn't actual acid down there, the terror was so real. I could feel Hyacinth's survival instincts kicking in as Uncle Morbid gave the order to take the strain.

As the whistle sounded I was jerked forward, almost losing my balance immediately - the bear meant business. I leaned back and planted my feet, noting with amusement that Hyacinth's clumpy sensible shoes were actually well suited for this. Bad Ted fed me a little slack before trying to jerk me back again, but this time I was ready, countered the shock and began pulling the rope in. The bad bear wasn't so bad after all, I could feel now that whoever was in that suit was lighter than I and their footwear had no grip to speak of. It took about ten seconds to pull Bad Ted to the edge of the pool, followed by a final heave to topple them in. The pool fizzed and bubbled as the bear thrashed about, the liquid getting more and more turbulent until my former foe sank beneath the surface, out of sight. The pool swelled in a great bore, then settled back to its original calm state, broken only by patches of fizzy bubbles across the surface with no sign of Bad Ted. The whole sequence was terrifying, it made Rebecca's acid bath on the video look like a weak jacuzzi.

"Next contestants, please!" called Uncle Morbid.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Mysterious first round opponent with a thrown together gimmick that does enough to scare you into putting up a proper fight before losing surprisingly easily? Bad Ted had to have been our old friend Limbo Len, right?
The thought did cross my mind, but a few things persuaded me that Len was not inside the bear suit. For one thing, walking teddy bears weren't his style, he was more interested in comicbook supervillains, pro-wrestlers and action yarns. Secondly, the bear had a round name badge, meaning this avatar had played and won once previously. If this was last week, Len was losing to Hyacinth as the Executioner from Parts Unknown and the rules of the Mortal Masquerade limits spirits to one avatar at a time. Thirdly, and most significantly, Len was in the crowd watching, waiting to compete in the next round contest.

Or rather Captain Brittle was, a character in a magenta bodysuit and peanut mask who looked like an advertising mascot gone rogue. This was more like Len's style of creativity and his height and build gave away the rest of his identity. To this day I've no idea who Bad Ted was. I don't even know if it was a guy or a girl in the costume, or even whether the bear was meant to be male or female, which is why I've gone with non-specific pronouns. If it was anyone I know they've never let on. This happens sometimes at the Masquerade, it's to be expected when everything's built around masked alter-egos.

I knew who Captain Brittle's opponent was, a luchadora by the name of Magistralle. Mostly because I'd been there when she bought the mask she was wearing. She'd told me back then that she'd kill me later.

Gilli... I mean, Magistralle, wore a dazzling sequined leotard with sheer dancer's tights, wrestling boots and knee pads with a short glittery cape and a full head mask showing only her mouth, painted in light blue shimmering lipstick. The outfit highlighted her athletic, muscled figure, as she stepped up and struck a pose she looked every inch a superstar wrestler. I wondered what might have been for her had she had the chance to properly pursue her career in the ring.

The two of them had an entertaining back and forth contest, even though the outcome was never in doubt. Gillian was a strong woman and could have outmatched Len in a straight battle, but instead worked with him instinctively to tell a story, starting with an initial stalemate before the peanut man slowly found an advantage, bringing Magistralle close to the edge. There she dug her heels in as she slowly built energy into a comeback. Captain Brittle was in all kinds of trouble and was almost pulled in, but right at the last minute saved himself by releasing a little of the rope, almost causing the luchadora to lose her balance. Then they were at loggerheads, both right at the edge of the pool, both staring at each other intensely as they put their all into surviving. Magistralle allowed her opponent to bring her to the brink of defeat, then countered with a final, decisive pull that sent Captain Brittle plunging into the acid, which churned and disposed of him just as it had Bad Ted.

It had been like watching a beautiful, terrible dance to the death. As Magistralle celebrated, she saw me in the crowd, smiled and beckoned. It was like a summons from Death himself.

"Come along, Hyacinth," said Aunt Betsy in my ear. "Your go again."

---

As Hyacinth made her way back to take up the rope, the reality of the situation was dawning. Across the pool stood a dangerous foe - a confident, strong gladiator who stood a serious chance of victory. Hyacinth looked down at the fizzing acid that she had already seen disintegrate two players, one at her hands. Only now was she imagining how they must have suffered as the flesh melted from their bones, the swirling pool dragging them to oblivion. Only now was she truly afraid.

She could not show weakness, not now. Her friend Betsy was at her side, supporting her throughout, willing her to succeed. She needed to summon the spirit of David against Goliath, face up to the challenge, show herself bold and resolute in the face of adversity.

Hyacinth drew herself up to her full height, standing proud, ready for combat. Aunt Betsy stood behind her, offering words of encouragement as she took up the rope. Magistralle watched from across the pool, strong and imposing like a titan guarding the gates of Hell. The command came to take the strain, Hyacinth could already feel her opponent's strength building as Betsy patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. She pulled harder on the rope, testing her own power. Then the patting on her shoulder turned into a push, upsetting her balance and sending her tumbling forward into the pool. The last thing she saw before hitting the acid was Aunt Betsy's smiling face, looking down with an expression of delight and mock concern.

"Oopsie," she said.

---

The liquid in the pool fizzed about me, getting more and more turbulent as I splashed about trying to tread water. It was like swimming fully dressed in soda water mixed with cordial, a little bit slimy but not viscous, all the while hissing and popping furiously about my body. As the currents built up I realised they were being generated by some kind of a wave turbine under the surface, with my flailing feet I could feel the bottom of the pool curving down in an arc, out of my depth. The waves and bubbles combined into eddies and whirlpools, sucking me under the surface - I was being dragged down and back by some kind of flushing mechanism that I now understood had the dual function of creating the maelstrom of the acid apparently disintegrating the victim while removing them from view, completing the illusion. I tumbled about in the swirling currents before breaking the surface to find myself chest deep in a hidden section of the pool on the other side of the wall. My wig was bobbing about a couple of metres away, sodden and discarded.

Waiting for me were a man and a woman in angel uniforms, looking down at me with a not unkind look of amusement. They took my arms and helped me up and out.

"Hello, Rafe," said the man. "I'm Craig, this is my wife Rebecca. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Craig and Rebecca took me through underground corridors to the shower area at the back of the house. A wet trail along the floor showed where Len and the mysterious Bad Ted had made the journey before me, my own dripping clothes added to the stream as I went. I commended Craig and Rebecca on what I'd seen of their work and asked about the story Debs had told me.

"All completely true," said Craig. "That guy, her ex, what an asshole. I'm glad we could help put him away, even though it got us in a bit of trouble with the papers. Thankfully we'd both quit our day jobs by then, so could handle the notoriety."

"The papers?"

"The tabloids were over it like flies on shit," said Rebecca. "Rich Eton city boy murdering his wife in a kinky sex game? Weird porn to be outraged by? They thought it was Christmas. We had to start shooting overseas in the end, which in a roundabout way brought us here."

Craig mimed a plane crashing with his hand, complete with vocalised sound effects. Rebecca gave him a nudge.

"So what exactly was it that you produced?" I asked.

"Primarily it was sploshing, WAM, messy fetish stuff," said Craig. "We specialised in producing realistic messes that no-one else could, then built stupid slapstick stories around it all."

"How did you get from that to acid pools and quick drying cement?"

"It's a long story," said Craig. "Come by the lab next week and we'll tell you all about it. If you're up for it, you can help us test some stuff we're working on."

We arrived at the door leading into the shower room. Next to it was a staircase leading upwards.

"The best way to get the gunge out," said Rebecca, "is to go in the shower fully dressed, then strip off while you're in there. Leave your wet clothes in the laundry truck, we'll take them to the drying room for you to pick up later. There are some towels on the shelves along with slippers, robes and yoga suits to change into, in various sizes. When you're good to go, those stairs will take you straight up to Limbo."

I thanked them and watched them head off back down the corridor, to greet the next loser in the acid pool tug of war.

The moment I knew Hyacinth was dead was when I saw her wig floating in the pool, as if it were all that remained after the acid burned her away. When I stripped off her drenched clothes and consigned them to the laundry truck, it felt like I was laying her to rest.

A costume does not a living character make. When a young Stanislavski realised that a rapier and a pair of dashing boots did not transform him into a swashbuckling hero but rather a desperate actor overplaying a stereotype, he called it the 'Spanish Boots Problem'. I wondered what he'd have made of Len and his deliberately disposable dress-up characters.

There is power in a mask - all forms of theatre have been fuelled by that power from Ancient Greece onwards - but it can only shape and amplify the life energy supplied by the person wearing it, like a symbiote. When the mask is removed, lost or destroyed, the energy disperses back into the universe, but much of it stays within the actor, who has tasted symbiosis and is eager for more.

Aunt Betsy was wrong. This is life in its purest form. Competition is just survival.

---

"Well, you did say Hyacinth had to die," said Debs when I met her for Sunday lunch at the canalside café. "Who knew Aunt Betsy would turn on her like that? Totally unfair, that's what it was."

"Nicely done thought," I said. "I genuinely didn't see that coming, even though I should have. I actually felt Hyacinth's terror and sense of betrayal. I've still got her clothes, by the way. Do you want them back?"

"Keep 'em. You can wear them around the house, you looked comfy in that skirt and cardie. So, what's next for you? Do you have another avatar planned?"

"Actually I'm thinking of staying in the background until Aunt Betsy's story plays out. I'll still be around in case you need me for anything, but I'll keep it low key and out of your way, let Betsy be the solo act she deserves to be."

"That's probably for the best, it's no good her killing her own sidekick only to immediately get another that looks like the first. In other news, do you remember my friend Maise, who you met in Limbo after she got buried in cement?"

"Yes, what about her?"

"She hasn't been to the Masquerade lately because she's met someone, a woman in her shared house. They bonded over movies, then started doing little deathplays together. Her name's Lexie, apparently she has a head chopper set up in her bedroom and Maise sawed her in half with a jigsaw illusion she borrowed from Uncle Morbid. She told me Lexie completely committed, she really wanted to imagine it being real."

"So when's she joining the Mortal Masquerade?"

"Next Saturday, I measured them both for their outfits yesterday. There's a strange intensity about her, like she doesn't even know what she's capable of, how far she'll go. And she really, really loves Maise. Uncle Morbid's got his eye on her, he thinks she could be the finishing piece in the team he's been building."

"He's met her, then?"

"No, not yet. But he has sensed the energy, the forces that run this plane and make everything happen. All the little coincidences that put people where they're meant to be."

'Where they're meant to be'. That was the part of this place that I had the most trouble making sense of. For all the absurd surrealism everything that happened happened exactly right. The little nudges and artefacts like Ellen's poster in the window of Culture Collects. The exact room where we'd rehearsed the BTC now being free to host Ellen's Acting Academy. The developing community building around the Mortal Masquerade just as the time was right to move the games in a more involved direction.

I looked at Debs across the table and wondered what kind of dark angel I saw before me.