The Midnight Market

Anya had always wondered where Suku went each night, and what could possibly lure her out of the warmth of the house and into the cool night air. Her parents had explained that cats tended to hunt at night, but Anya couldn’t imagine her little cat lowering himself to anything as mundane as hunting.

Suku; Tsukuyomi - to give his full name – paused at the end of the front path and looked pointedly over his shoulder. In the darkness, he was practically invisible. Only the glow of his eyes set him apart from the shadows. Apparently satisfied, he slipped around the corner and into the night.

Anya slipped quietly from her hiding spot behind the front door and crept down the front path. Sure enough, there was Suku. Sitting a little way down the street, gazing straight back at her. His tail lazily batted the ground, and he yawned. His ear twitched, just once, but his eyes never left hers. It was as if he had always known this night was coming.

He turned and padded down the street, casting the occasional glance back as if making sure Anya was following. Suku led her through narrow, twisting alleyways that felt foreign, even though she’d lived in the town every year of her admittedly short life. She wished she’d thought to bring a coat only once, but by then it was too late. She realised she was entirely reliant on Suku to guide her home.

In time, Suku reached a small archway leading to a tunnel, almost imperceptible unless you looked at it just so, and without looking back, he slipped in. Anya followed him into the dark, keeping her hand on the left-hand wall, the walls barely lit by the pale moonlight spilling through the tunnel entrance.

As she walked, her eyes became accustomed to another source of light. A light that shone ahead of her. At first, it seemed to shift colour and shape, and she dismissed it as her mind playing tricks on her. But as she walked, the colours gradually softened into a warm, gentle glow. There, in the exit of the tunnel, was Suku – waiting for her. And beyond, a clearing.

The warm glow filled and surrounded the clearing, casting flickering shadows against trees that arched overhead. Small stalls and booths. covered in silks, candles, and strange trinkets filled every space imaginable. Behind the stalls, faces shrouded by hoods, strange masks, and peculiar attire that looked as if it had come from other places, even other times. The Midnight Market stretched before her, alive with whispers.

Suku brushed against her ankle, then vanished among the stalls, leaving her alone.

Anya took a tentative step forward, skirting carefully around a woman dressed in a loose-fitting toga. As she passed through the market, the various vendors called out to her, their eyes gleaming as she passed. She paused at a stall where a tall, thin woman held up a tiny glass bottle filled with something that shimmered faintly.

“Captured moonlight, child,” the woman murmured, her voice as soft as mist. “It will show you things hidden in the dark. Only three whispers. Don’t worry, dear—you can afford it.”

Anya reached out, and the woman handed her the bottle. It was small and smooth, but a tiny pulse of warmth radiated into her fingers. She tucked the bottle carefully into her pocket, where the glow of light increased.”

A few booths along, an old man with sharp eyes held out a strange, ornate hourglass. “It will give you a glimpse of tomorrow,” he said in a voice like wind brushing over leaves. “Only a few breaths.”

 “How… how do I pay?” she asked uncertainly.

The old man gave her a gentle smile. “You’ve already paid, child. You can afford it.”

Anya took the hourglass, its weight somehow comforting in her hands, and the old man’s smile widened. She continued through the market, somehow never reaching the edge of the clearing, stopping at booths, gathering treasures: a pendant that held a lost memory, a tiny vial of laughter that bubbled in her hand, and a delicate ribbon that promised one true wish. Each time she reached out for something, the vendor assured her that she could afford it and allowed her to take it.

The market stretched endlessly before her. Soon, Anya spotted a small booth, far simpler than the others. On its table lay a single item—a small, plain-looking bronze key. Its surface was tarnished, but it seemed to glow faintly.

“How much for the key?” she asked.

The vendor, who seemed impossibly thin, so thin he seemed barely there, seemed to study her for a moment before answering.

“A blink of an eye,” he said quietly.

Anya smiled and tried to take the key. But the vendor shook his head gently.

“You can’t afford this” he murmured.

Suku chose this moment to reappear at her side, and in one graceful movement, leapt on top of the vendor’s stall.

“How much did you buy, my love?” Said a voice from behind her. It was the woman in the loose-fitting toga, although she looked different somehow. Her clothes were a little more tattered than before, and some of her beauty had faded.

“Only a few small things.” Anya replied.

The woman sighed, like the breeze around a windowpane.

“Each time you took a treasure, you gave more than you realised. The Midnight Market only deals in one currency: time. And yours is spent.”

Anya’s heart pounded as she looked down at the items she’d gathered. The tiny bottle of moonlight, the hourglass, the pendant, the laughter—they all felt heavier in her hands.

“Is there a way to get it back?” she whispered, looking around at the vendors, who seemed to be very carefully avoiding her gaze.

The vendor with the key nodded to a small, empty table at the edge of the market.

“That’s yours, now,” he said gently. “Set out what you’ve gathered, and perhaps… perhaps someone will come along to take them, as you did. It’s the only way.”

She looked at her treasures, each one beautiful and strange, each one bought at a cost she hadn’t understood and made her way to the empty table. She arranged them as best she could and took up position behind her new stall.

Suku settled beside her, his green eyes steady, an eternal companion. The Midnight Market would keep them both for as long as necessary. After all, nothing is ever truly free.