Mr. Macabre and his Troupe of Dancing Skeletons

     With a gasp, Mr Macabre awoke from his nightmare, shaking in a cold sweat. For a few moments he lay there, trying to rid himself of his feeling of terror. But it wasn't the first time he'd had that dream, and he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be his last.

     Still quivering, he got up to pour himself a glass of water. The cool liquid calmed him, but he still couldn't remove the image of the panic-stricken Eyrie from his mind. He was that Eyrie; he ran the dancing troupe that was going to fail so terribly on Halloween. Why, oh, why did Halloween have to fall on a Monday? That was the heart of the problem, you see – the dancing troupe couldn't perform on Mondays. They simply fell to pieces. Literally.

     If he couldn't get the troupe to perform on Halloween... if he couldn't find a solution... he knew his nightmare would become a reality. He sighed. Taking another sip, Mr Macabre knew there was nothing he could do at this time of night. He was just about to go back to bed when the latest issue of the Neopian Times, lying open on his desk, caught his eye. He picked it up, and began to read the tiny advertisement he'd noticed.

     Madame Maisie Morrip, Witch – Do YOU need a solution to an impossible problem? Do YOU wish there was something you could do about your dreadful new neighbour? Perhaps you just feel you need a little more SPARK in your life? Visit Madame Maisie Morrip, and she could solve ALL your problems!

     Address:- Number 7, Hartford Lane, Neovia.

     **Prices vary. Not all problems have solutions; nor are all problems important. Please do not visit on Fridays.

     Mr Macabre finished reading and stared out the window at the moonlit town. It seemed impossible; it was too good to be true. How could it be that here, in his very paw, was a potential answer to quite possibly the biggest problem he'd ever faced? Being a magician himself, and a highly respectable one at that, Mr Macabre was generally rather mistrustful of other spell casters – but he was desperate.

     'Well,' he thought, 'even if there's nothing she can do, I really haven't got anything to lose.' He decided to go and see this Maisie Morrip in the morning, and he fell asleep, feeling if not entirely happy, at least somewhat hopeful.

     ~•~•~•~

     Mr Macabre woke with the sun the next morning and left for Neovia as soon as he could. The air was crisp, it was shaping up to be a fine day, and Mr Macabre was in a good mood. The shopkeepers were setting up their stalls for the day's business, and he nodded at them cheerfully as he passed. It had been a while since he'd left his old house, he realised.

     He passed the Haunted Faire and the Gypsy Camp, then crossed the small stone bridge leading to Neovia. The town had a faded look to it, even in the morning sunlight; it was as though someone had stolen its colour. He strolled along the cobblestones, taking in the warm, sweet scents from the Crumpetmonger's shop. 'I really ought to get out more,' he laughed to himself.

     At last he arrived at Hartford Lane. A small and dingy street, it seemed to be greyer than the rest of the town and was lined with identical houses. The only thing distinguishing Number 7 from the others was the small plaque next to the door that read Madame Maisie Morrip – Witch. Mr Macabre took a deep breath and raised a paw to knock... but the door swung open before he could.

     'Yes?' said the short purple Wocky who stood before him, an eyebrow raised behind her glasses.

     'Er – hello; might I be speaking to Madame Maisie Morrip?' Mr Macabre enquired.

     'Says so on the sign, doesn't it?' replied she. 'What do you want?'

     'Well... My name is Hector Macabre, and I, er... seem to have a problem. I saw your advertisement –'

     'Right, well, you'd better come inside then.' Madame Morrip turned and with a swish of her tail disappeared into the house. Mr Macabre followed, somewhat apprehensively.

     She led him to a small sitting room cluttered with plush armchairs and spindly tables. A single cobwebbed window looked out over the town's river. Mr Macabre sat.

     'Cuppa tea?' Madame Morrip asked him, procuring a steaming teapot from somewhere.

     'Er – yes, please,' Mr Macabre said, too polite to refuse.

     'Biscuit?' she said, this time offering a tin of distinctly mouldy cookies.

     '... Thank you,' he replied, this time with some hesitation.

     'Right then. What's your problem?'

     Mr Macabre swallowed his mouthful of tea with some difficulty (it was very hot and tasted exceptionally odd) and said, 'Well, as I say, my name's Hector Macabre, and I run a troupe of dancing skeletons –'

     'Dancing skeletons?'

     'Yes – perhaps you've heard of us...?'

     'Nope, haven't.'

     'Ah; well, we tour the Haunted Woods and we've become quite successful – always get a booking for Halloween, that sort of thing – but... there's a problem with the troupe. They, er... just won't perform on Mondays.'

     Maisie Morrip looked at him for a moment. 'They won't perform on Mondays?'

     'Not at all. They simply fall to pieces.'

     'Literally?'

     'Well, I suppose it's about as literal as it gets,' said Mr Macabre sadly. 'The thing is, we're booked in for the Halloween show next week, but as you know, Halloween's a Monday this year and it's all going to go dreadfully wrong. I'll be a laughing stock; I've got my reputation to consider!'

     'Oh, yes of course, I do understand. But have you always had this trouble?'

     'Yes, ever since I formed the troupe a few years back. I am a magician, you see, I'm rather highly respected too. But I needed some help, you know, around the laboratory and such, only no one seemed very keen on becoming my assistant. I mean, one really can't be expected to do all one's work by oneself. And so I thought, what if I created my own assistants? What if I re-animated... skeletons? I'd be the first to do it, but imagine what I could do with a group of them at my disposal... yes, I thought, a group of skeletons would do very nicely. It took me a while, but I finally created the magic for my Spelle of Skeletonian Re-Animation –'

     'Skeletonian Re-Animation?'

     'Yes, well, one must name a new spell well, don't you think?'

     Madame Morrip raised an eyebrow. 'Quite. Do go on.'

     'Well, all there was to do after that was find the necessary bones. It was rather difficult at first, I'll tell you that – but it all got easier once I discovered those marvellous Do-It-Yourself Skeleton Kits. Anyway, within a month, I'd re-animated several skeletons. But the thing was, they seemed to enjoy dancing more than anything else. I of course saw their potential immediately, and so I asked them if they'd rather become a performing dance troupe. They all said yes, and they started rehearsing right away.'

     'I see. Now, when did you first start having problems with the, ah... bony crew?'

     Mr Macabre frowned slightly. His troupe was the elite, not some raggedy half-rate 'crew' of jumbled bones. But he continued nonetheless.

     'The following Monday, I simply went down to the basement – that's where they live – and found only small mounds of bones. At first I thought they'd had a fight and were all in an obstinate mood... the Scorchios just wouldn't get along with the Draiks, you see. But when they still did nothing, I knew there was something terribly wrong. The Animation Spell wouldn't work again, I couldn't get more than a twitch out of my most energetic Acara; there was nothing I could do. Then, that night, I was sitting despondent in my armchair... and shortly after midnight the Usul skeleton came up the stairs with my cup of tea. I nearly jumped out of my skin!'

     'Well,' said Madame Morrip after several moments. 'It's a very odd case; an unusual problem indeed! Why in the world is Monday is the problem?'

     'Ah! I think it has something to do with the very day! No other day is more boring or less imaginative, is it... Mondays are work days, days of school and business and jobs, with nothing to look forward to but several more days of the same thing. You see? The magic is overwhelmed by the power of Mondays!'

     'Goodness me,' thought Maisie Morrip, 'he is a bit mad. But I think I know what to do; I'll have to help him out.' Out loud she said, 'Right. I think that will be enough to be getting on with.'

     'Do you really?' said Mr Macabre in surprise. 'Well, that's wonderful. When shall I hear from you...?'

     'Don't worry about that, Mr Macabre,' said Maisie Morrip as she showed him out. She gave a mysterious smile.

     'Er – right. Shall we keep rehearsing as normal, then?'

     'Oh yes, yes of course.'

     'Marvellous. You see, they've just mastered skull-juggling while doing the Charleston – it's going to be utterly fantastic, you wait and see – and I'll be including some skeletal Meepits too, you know, for the added spookiness -'

     'Goodbye, Mr Macabre,' said Maisie Morrip.

     ~•~•~•~

     The last few days before Halloween passed in a blur. Mr Macabre was in the happiest of moods. His neighbours became quite concerned at the mad laughter echoing from his home – and usually, they didn't bat an eyelid, not even if there was green smoke pouring from his chimney.

     But when Sunday rolled around, Mr Macabre felt some trepidation for the following night's performance. He'd always been dreading the year that Halloween would fall on a Monday. After all, the troupe had never been capable of anything on that fateful day. He hadn't heard from Maisie Morrip, either. If she couldn't do anything, or if she didn't keep her word... well, it would be the end of the troupe. They already had enough competition from Terrible Tim's Trio of Transparent Elephantes – transparent pets were far easier to work with than skeletons, after all. Plus, they could sing. If the Troupe of Dancing Skeletons couldn't perform, the Trio would take over as the number one spooky group. Mr Macabre did not like Terrible Tim.

     The troupe, however, was in fantastic shape. Yesterday evening, the lead Aisha had looked around at them all and said how impressed she was with them, and everyone had nodded in agreement. Mr Macabre sighed. All he could do now was trust Maisie Morrip and hope for the best. With that thought, he drained his tea and went to bed.

     ~•~•~•~

     He awoke on Halloween morning feeling terribly nervous. Today was the day. The day that would decide the rest of his career, and that of the skeletons. Unwillingly, he got up, glanced at the calendar... and froze.

     Tuesday, 31st day of the Month of Collecting, Year 13.

     He couldn't believe his eyes. Tuesday. But... that was impossible... He'd seen the calendar yesterday, had seen it clearly say that Monday was the 31st... why had it changed? How had it changed...? And then it dawned on him. Madame Maisie Morrip... had modified time.

     Mr Macabre was shocked. He couldn't even imagine the power it would have taken to meddle with time at all, let alone change the entire day. And for all the calendars to change as well! This was powerful magic. But... if it were Tuesday... did that mean...?

     Without even waiting to put on his dressing gown or slippers, Mr Macabre raced downstairs and flung open the basement door. A range of bone-white skulls all looked up in surprise as he entered the room at a run.

     'You're... but you're all... goodness me! You're all here, in perfect shape!'

     'Well... apparently,' rasped a Bruce hesitantly.

     'Oh, happy day! She's a genius! The witch has done it! This is... this is extraordinary!'

     With that, he embraced the nearest skeleton wildly. The rest of them looked uncertainly at each other, and eventually escorted the Eyrie magician back upstairs for a calming cup of tea.

     The rest of the day went at an alarming pace. The skeletal Meepits arrived in the early afternoon, bringing with them several ghostly Petpetpets to light the stage. The only mishap of the entire day involved a missing dance ribbon and a Meepit who suspiciously lost an arm bone, but this was all smoothed over quite quickly.

     At last the grand evening arrived. The stage had been constructed in a clearing, the curtains hung in place, and the ghostly Petpetpets cast an eerie blue glow over everything. The musicians were seated, spirited fiddles and gloomy harps tuned, dusty tambourines at the ready. The belly-dancing Aishas took their place at the front of the stage, Mr Macabre pulled up the curtain... and the performance began.

     It was unlike anything the Haunted Woods had ever seen. The applause for the Aishas, always a great start to a show, nearly brought the trees down. The break-dancing Bruces, too, were wildly popular. The audience gasped at the fantastic acrobatics of the Draiks, laughed madly when the troupe started juggling their skulls, and nearly fainted with terror when the skeletal Meepits waltzed through the crowd to join the performers on stage. Everyone agreed – Mr Macabre and his Troupe of Dancing Skeletons had truly outdone themselves this time.

     Finally, the last dance – involving the entire troupe and a great deal of the audience – was over, and the thunderous applause lasted for several minutes. The curtain went down and up as though it were on springs. At last it closed for the final time. The audience began to file out, the skeletons were congratulating each other and starting to tidy up. Mr Macabre was helping when he saw a hint of purple disappear between the trees. Within a minute, he'd caught up to Madame Maisie Morrip.

     'Well done, Mr Macabre, the show was indeed a grand success,' she said.

     'Madame Morrip... I don't know what to say. I am humbled by your incredible power... to change time entirely, to move a whole day for such a small thing as our dancing troupe... I can't thank you enough! I'm overwhelmed! About your fee –'

     'Yes, I was coming to that. Shall we say... hmm, two thousand neopoints?'

     Mr Macabre stopped dead, certain he'd heard wrong. 'Two... two thousand neopoints? Is that all? But Madame, your display of power was incredible, surely your efforts require far more...' he faltered.

     Maisie Morrip was pulling something from her bag. Smiling, she handed it to him. It was a calendar... the month was the Month of Collecting... and the 31st was very clearly marked 'Monday.'

     Mr Macabre was very confused. 'But... it was Tuesday... the troupe, they're perfectly fine, they're all back there...'

     'Mr Macabre, you are a magician, correct? You understand that magic always retains a connection to the spell caster who created it?'

     'Well, yes, of course -'

     'And that it's impossible for magic to function properly if you are not confident in it's complete success? Think about it.'

     The Eyrie thought, comprehension slowly dawning on his face.

     'Your spell of Re-Animation stopped working on Mondays because you had some doubt, somewhere, in your spell. In reality, your spell was perfect, and the only problem with it was your own doubt. All I did was cast a spell to change only your own calendar. And it worked – you believed today was Tuesday, and therefore believed the troupe would be fine. All you need is a little more confidence.' Maisie Morrip smiled.

     Mr Macabre was dumbfounded. It was so clear, so obvious, and he knew it was true. 'Madame... you are an extraordinary witch...'

     'I know,' Maisie Morrip replied. 'And about the fee – simply send it to my house. I believe you have my address. Goodbye, Mr Macabre!' And with a swish of her cloak, she disappeared.

     ~•~•~•~

     After that, everything went very well for Mr Macabre and the troupe. The Halloween performance alone secured them so many more performances that they were set for the next year at least. The skeletal Meepits joined the troupe permanently, and never failed to leave the audience petrified. Mr Macabre went back to creating new spells, jinxes to give you warts on your nose, that sort of thing – and found he was happier than he had been in a long time.

     And as for a certain day of the week, it never bothered them again.

The End