Buying A Reason

20251225

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 4” event.

I’d known about the Midnight Market since I was a child. Clock on the old hall strikes twelve on the longest night and its flaky cast-iron gate becomes shrouded in a blue-grey mist and opens to an entirely different space.
The inside’s as eerie as people claim. Intimidating, even. Seemingly endless rows of ramshackle wooden stalls, each staffed by a masked unearthly dark robe which presumably hides a person. Of some kind.
But I’m too numb to care. Gazing across the vast space, I wonder where to start. None of the stalls have labels. Few even have obvious merchandise. But… people claim you can get almost anything here.
I approach the nearest stall and force a smile at the silent shopkeep.
“Hi. I, um…” I take a deep breath. Steeling myself. “I’m looking for a reason to live.”
“Ooh, interesting.” Their voice is soft and reedy. It grates on my ears, but… doesn’t sound unkind. “Not many folks try to buy that.”
“Really?”
Guess I’m even more of a failure than I thought.
“No, most grow their own or do without.” The figure tilts its head, somehow scrutinising me through the featureless white mask. “Well, what do you have to trade?”
“Not much.” I mumble and place the tattered supermarket “for life” bag on the counter.
The fact everything I own which might be worth something leaves room to spare is really quite depressing. Moreso the fact I doubt it’ll be enough.
“Hmm!” They stoop to peer at my tatty knickknacks with peculiar excitement. “Tell you what. In exchange for that-” they point to Arfie, my dearest toy as a small child, who might qualify for ‘vintage’ if only he’d been less thoroughly loved “-I’ll direct you to everyone I know can help.”
“Sure.”
While the thought of losing Arfie hurts, it hurts far less than the thought of forging on as I am now.
I morosely watch as they fish Arfie out - then gawp in horror as they lift their mask to reveal a, I suppose it must be a face, it’s in the right place and they were wearing a mask over it and that lopsided spiral of teeth is fluttering open in a way I’d describe as mouth-like if it wasn’t for the fact mundane words like ‘face’ and ‘mouth’ feel utterly inadequate here.
Paralysed with shock and revulsion I can only watch as they lift poor helpless Arfie to their nightmarish maw… and snuffle all over him.
“Ahh. Childhood love and fear is such a bouquet.” They return Arfie to the bag and pat his head, as if he were a real dog. Their other hand returning the mask to its rightful place. I’m relieved by both motions. “Now. Since I suspect simple directions won’t help much…”
They set a brass object on the counter, like a compass but the top is dark glass with four coloured arrows - red, blue, green, and yellow - pointing in different directions.
“Yellow’s the gate, the others are the sellers. An arrow gets bigger as you get closer. I’d start with red.”
“Oh! Wow, yeah, that’s fab.” I reach out hesitantly. Surely just sniffing an old stuffed dog wouldn’t be enough for this. But they nudge the compass towards me in an encouraging fashion.
I glance between them and my bag, then ask “What, um, what did you take, exactly?”
“Why, the sentiments you’d stored up in the toy. Wasn’t that why you brought keepsakes?”
“I brought what I had.” I admit quietly.
“Ah.”
I was braced for pity. Hearing sympathy was a much softer blow.
“Well, you’ve got a good selection of sentiments there.”
It felt weird to be buying stuff with something so… intangible. At least, sentiments were intangible to me. Apparently not for the people here. And I wasn’t going to complain.
“Thanks so much.”
“My pleasure. Do come again.”
The red arrow lets me to a seller whose mask has a big grin and two lines for eyes carved out of it. “‘Ello.” Their voice is deeper than the last, somewhere between a purr and a growl.
I put my bag down, take a deep breath, and say “I’m looking to buy a reason to live. I’ve got, um, sentiments to trade?”
“Mmm?” They stoop to peer in the bag - and chuckle. “My. Such despair and ennui. Delicious. Yes, I can get you a good trade! A reason to live, you say? What kind?”
“Ah… any?”
“Tsk.” The seller waggles a gloved finger. “Would you really be happy, living for hate? Or spite?”
“Ohhh no.” I wince. “Um, what do you suggest?”
“Hm.” They reach under their mask and rub what I decide, for my own comfort, is a chin. “Curiosity? Curiosity’s a good one. Hard to run out of questions. Particularly these days, with a mind-portal in your pocket.”
“Sounds good.”
They pull the bag close, and I prepare to look away, but they just shove their face in and make loud happy huffing noises. Then they offer me a pill. White, plain, the sort I’d usually never accept from a stranger.
“Be warned, it tastes terrible. But chew as long as you can stand before swallowing - boosts the effect.”
“Right.”
HOLY FUCK they weren’t kidding. I clutch the booth and clamp a hand over my mouth and chew frantically. My stomach’s roiling and my throat doesn’t want anything to do with this but I’m practised at forcing stuff down.
And once the bitter fetid slurry hits my stomach… a comfy bubbling warmth spreads outwards, shooing the numbness away.
“What was that made of?” I marvel.
They chuckle. “Trade secret.”
“Aw.” I pout - then blink and pinch myself. Why do I care so much?
“See, it’s kicked in already.”
“Ohh. Heh.” I grin at them, and they return it through the mask.
“Have a good one.”
I pick up my bag and look at the compass. Yellow is back to the gate, but… the market’s open for hours yet. I wonder what these other stalls sell?

Prompt was: “Once a year, a market opens at the stroke of midnight on the solstice. It sells things that can only be bought—or sold—when light and dark are perfectly balanced. You have exactly twelve hours to find what you’re looking for. The vendors accept unusual currencies.”