The first time I saw the Night Market, I thought the forest was playing a trick on me. It started with lights, soft at first, so soft I thought they were reflections from passing cars, but the road was empty, quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears until you can feel it inside your chest. Then the lights grew brighter, they floated between the trees like little stars that had slipped out of the sky, blue, gold, violet, colors that had no business glowing in the middle of a dark road. I stopped walking, the air changed around me, heavy and cold, then warm, like someone had exhaled against the back of my neck. I whispered without thinking, almost to myself, "What is this?"
The lights opened into a path, slowly, as if waiting for me to decide, my feet moved before my brain did. At the end of the glowing path stood an archway, old wood carved with silver symbols that shifted like slow breathing, a sign hung in the middle,
THE NIGHT MARKET
ONE NIGHT, ONCE A YEAR, ENTER WITH CARE.
My heart thudded, not from fear, but from something else I couldn't name. A voice came from behind me, "You see it too." I spun around, a boy stood there, calm, too calm, his eyes glowed a warm gold, like candlelight trapped in glass. He said his name was Elijah, then he said my name, without me telling him, "Olivia." His voice was steady, soft, familiar in a way that made no sense, before I could ask him anything, the archway shivered, as if it had heard us, and then it opened.
Lanterns rose into the air like they were being pulled by invisible strings, tents unfolded as if blooming, strange scents drifted across the path like rain, cinnamon, something sweet, something cold.
The Night Market had arrived.
And it wanted me.