Circe's Gala - By Zahra Bandukwala

Written By: Zahra Bandukwala

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Zahra Bandukwala, writing under the evocative name "Circe's Gala," transports readers into a world of magic and mystery with her short story. Featured in the esteemed Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this tale weaves elements of enchantment and intrigue as it explores the sudden appearance of an extraordinary house on the outskirts of town. Through vivid description and captivating narrative, Bandukwala invites us to journey alongside her characters into the unknown.

About the Work

"Circe's Gala" is a masterful blend of whimsy and suspense, enveloping readers in a unique atmosphere where the ordinary meets the fantastical. The story's mood is both curious and mystical, reflecting the enigmatic nature of the house that appears without warning. Bandukwala's use of rich imagery brings to life the vibrant colors and peculiar details of the gala, while themes of choice and consequence resonate through the narrative, leaving a lasting impression on the audience.

Circe's Gala

Original Submission by Zahra Bandukwala

It appeared one day on the outskirts of town. There was no prior construction. There was no notice. There were no signs that it was ever being built. It simply appeared overnight as if it had been there all along. To all who walked past it, it was an architectural disaster. A large, rickety, wooden house built so unusually one would have thought a curious little toddler had randomly stacked vibrant coloured blocks on top of each other and constructed this odd peculiarity.

For days, the house was given a large berth. There seemed to be no life inside; no one ever came out, and no one was brave enough to knock on its enormous oak door. So, it simply stood there, eccentric and misplaced within the quiet little town.

One night, a few days after the house materialised, a blue sign appeared on the fence surrounding the house. ‘Circe’s Gala: Open Tomorrow, Promptly After Sunrise.’ A young boy had spotted it first while passing the house on his way home. Breathless and insistent, he ran back with the news, informing everyone till the whole town knew.

People speculated across tea in quaint cafes. Others laughed at the pure absurdity of it. Some, however, were intrigued; and as the sun started its slow dance across the pale sky the next morning, a small crowd had gathered outside the house.

A young girl, who had ventured out alone that day, idly waited for the gates to open. She was fascinated by the house and the curiosities that may lay inside ‘Circe’s Gala’. As she fidgeted with her jacket zipper, impatiently waiting for the sun to rise, the house buzzed. Humming with sudden life, a banner strung open on the first floor. Fairy lights bordered the edges, and a curving font revealed the words ‘Circe’s Gala’. Beneath it, in a smaller, shimmering script: ‘Come in and find a door’.

Flowers had sprouted on every windowsill, and a string of pennant flags hung from the roof. The pathway that led to the house was abruptly filled with pebbles, each glowing a different colour: maroon, turquoise, lavender. Music carried its way softly through the air, light and cheery.

The young girl watched, intrigued, as the oak door swung open and a tall woman swooped into an elaborate bow. She held position, gracefully up righted herself, and then stepped outside as the door shut behind her.

“Welcome, welcome. Thyrise welcomes you all. Please come closer.” The cadence of her voice, so soft and smooth, beckoned each individual forward.

As the fence gate was pushed open and the line shuffled ahead, the girl got a clearer glimpse of the woman at the door. Dressed in a short ruffled purple dress with a white boxy jacket, the woman was very clearly the owner of the house. Her frizzy hair was a shade of every colour and elegantly tied into a low bun. Her boots were a dark blue and had been paired with a set of maroon stockings. Despite the odd jumble of clothes, the woman carried herself with poise, smiling and waving everyone to the front.

As the small group assembled by the front door, the woman coughed politely and said, “Oh my, how wonderful of you all to stop by ‘Circe’s Gala’. The name is Thyrise.” Upon seeing the confused faces around her she added, “No, no, not Circe, the name is merely a homage to my role model - Goddess of Magic!” Her voice oozed honey. So charming, it was hard not to find her captivating.

Her eyes landed on the young girl, interlocking briefly for a few seconds. The girl, only now noticing the colour of her eyes, gasped softly. Her eyes were different colours. One violet, the other gold.

“Did Circe not turn a bunch of men into animals?” a young boy next to the girl suddenly quipped, breaking the gaze. “Your role model is basically a demented sorceress?"

Thyrise chuckled, not at all put off by the rather blunt question. “Circe had her flaws, so do we all. But no, I admire Circe for her resolve and her defiance to protect what was hers.”

The boy rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed.

“Any who, let’s stop the chit chat shall we and get to the real magic. But first, listen closely, I have a few rules I need you to hear.” Clearing her throat, she trilled loudly. “Got to get the vocal cords ready before I start reciting, don’t I,” she chirped, as she shook herself from head to toe with great exaggeration. “Hear we go:

Inside Circe’s Gala, doors aplenty you will find,

Some easy to spot, some hidden inside.

Open whichever door call out to you,

For beyond each one lies a world old or new.

Go and explore, a world of its own,

Wander the paths with a friend or alone.

Stay as you please, and then wish for your door,

Then you may return to ‘Circe’s Gala’ floor.

But listen closely, for one rule must be known:

Each door shows itself to you only once alone.

If you pass it by, if you choose not to enter,

You’ll never find that doorway again, no matter where you venture.

So choose each door with great caution and care,

For each door will take you someplace elsewhere.

The doors, they are endless - red, green, or blue

But once a door disappears, it is forever lost to you.”

As Thyrise finished reciting her song, she clapped her hands together excitedly, hopping up and down. “Well, that went well. I think you got the gist. Come on, go in.” Then as an afterthought, “Enjoy!” she chirped.

And then the main door burst open to a thousand more doors waiting behind.

*

The girl stepped through the doorway. Darkness enveloped her and the whole house seemed to disappear. A strip of purple light directed her forward and she followed the path till she reached a large circular room filled with light.

Light coloured parquet tiles covered the floor, and the walls had been painted a burnt orange. Along the sides of the room were an assortment of doors, each a different shape and colour. To the right, a large painting of speckled stars had been framed with a thin black border. Upon further inspection, the girl saw a small, crooked nook with a gilded handle hiding amongst the stars. A door.

On the opposite side, a small yellow door with green leaves around the edges was constantly changing shape. The girl watched as it turned into a flower, then a spaceship, then a car. Scanning the room, the girl surveyed each door. The door on the ceiling with a ladder along one side of the room to climb up. The keyhole shaped door. The postcard with a hinge to climb through.

All so uniquely crafted.

Finally, her eyes landed on a brown pine door with a glass window. Cautiously, she approached the door, peering through the window to see what was on the other side. Through the translucent glass, she could obscurely make out the silhouette of trees and a castle in the distance.

Intrigued, she decided to walk through the door. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated a moment before pushing the door open.

A soft breeze rustled her copper-red hair, and she smelt the crisp notes of pine needles. Her legs wobbled slightly as she placed her foot on damp soil and the circular room behind her vanished from sight. Around her, large trees provided a canopy from the harsh sun. Through the small gaps, the girl could just make out a clear blue sky filled with cotton candy clouds. Leaves crunched underfoot, accompanying the sound of birds that whistled somewhere high in the branches.

Through the forest, she made out a semi-hidden path strewn with twigs and faint footprints. Perhaps someone had walked through this door before; quite recently.

Before long, the thick foliage began to thin, and the pointy turrets of a stone castle came into view. Relieved, the girl picked up her pace and soon reached the end of the forest. Across a small patch of land, a clear moat surrounded the castle. With the drawbridge open, the girl ventured across and entered a square courtyard smelling oddly of strawberries,

The open courtyard was empty, bar a shiny blue wagon filled with juicy beetroots and a pair of sandals that had been left against the wall. Her eyes scanned the side of the castle and landed on a barely visible window on the top of a turret. Squinting, she saw a pair of cloudy grey eyes staring down back at her. She blinked twice, and the pair of eyes had vanished.

Shaking her head, she scanned the remaining of her surroundings and her eyes landed on a powder blue door at the end of a narrow alley. Vines framed the edges of the door, and the smell of strawberries was even more potent.

Knocker in hand, the girl knocked once, hoping someone would open.

There was no answer. No scuffle of footsteps on the other side. No voices, no laughter.

It was quiet.

She knocked again, a little harder.

Still no response.

She waited.

Then curiously, the door swung open of its own accord.

Odd.

Suspiciously, the girl stepped inside, gasping at the sight inside.

Wooden counters and cabinets lined the room filled with an assortment of objects. The intoxicating smell of strawberries hit her once again, intermingling with the distinct smells of mint, lavender, and sweet honey. Plant pots dangled from the ceiling with white rope, each housing a different herb or flower.

Long panelled windows opened out to vibrant green hills dotted with colourful flowers as the sunlight filtered through and traced patterns on the tiled floor. Close by, a young calf chewed grass and mooed softly.

In the middle of the room, a kitchen island with four cushioned stools had been set with an assortment of bread and jams. Fresh fruits, ripe and juicy, filled a porcelain bowl; and a charcuterie board filled with cheeses lay next to it. The only sound that punctuated the otherwise silent room was the steady ticking of an old cuckoo clock hanging in the corner.

The girl was mesmerised.

Looking around, the girl tried to find another person. She was starving and would be grateful for a bite.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” her voice echoed.

No response.

Placing her hands on the smooth counters, she picked up a warm bread roll and eyed it. It smelled delicious; the flaky crust crunching between her fingers as she broke it in two. It wouldn’t hurt to have a bite, right?

Cutlery had been assembled on a plate to her right, and the girl picked up a knife and a bottle of peach jam. Twisting the cap, she spread a thick layer onto her bread and popped it into her mouth. The bread melted in her mouth and the girl savoured the bite. She ate the roll and then another, this time pairing it with a thin slice of cheese.

Satiated, she decided to venture further inside and see if she could find someone to thank for the meal. Perhaps the grey eyed individual she had seen before.

Just as she turned towards the arched doorway, she heard a pair of quick footsteps. Two seconds later a young boy, around her age, entered the kitchen. Dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt, khaki pants, and a pair of brown sandals, the boy stopped in his tracks when he saw her.

Breathing deeply, he urgently whispered, “Did you drink it?”

“Drink what?’

“The cordial, the strawberry cordial!” he frantically asked. His eyes scanned the kitchen, looking for something in particular. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he sighed with relief.

“You didn’t. Thank God.”

“I’m sorry, what?” the girl asked again, confused.

The boy, still breathing heavily, held up a finger to signal he needed a second. “You need to get out of here. Now!” There was urgency in his tone, and it was scaring her.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“There’s no time to explain. Come on, get out quickly.” The boy nudged her towards the door, but she didn’t move.

“No, I’m not leaving without an explanation,” she countered.

Frustration was evident on the boy’s face, but the girl wouldn’t budge.

“Let me tell you the story,” he finally surrendered. “The story of a wanderer, roaming the woods who will one day come across this castle. The drawbridge across the moat will coincidentally be left open and the courtyard will have no guards. At the end of the alley in the courtyard, the wanderer will find the blue door which will also have been left open. The wanderer will say that it was luck, but it most definitely is not. Once inside, the stranger will be welcomed in by a young servant who will be laying out a range of delicacies which he will be offered. Famished, the guest will eat to his heart's content. After the meal he will suddenly feel extremely thirsty and so he will be offered strawberry cordial - left in a glass pitcher on the table next to the food.” The boy pointed at an empty space on the kitchen island where the pitcher would have usually been left.

Carrying on, he said, “Parched, the stranger will gulp the liquid and graciously thank the servant for the meal. He will ask to meet the owner, who will be unavailable at the time. And so, he will ask for his thanks to be passed on before exiting. He will stroll out the courtyard, place his foot on the drawbridge…” he paused. “And then simply go no further,” he added solemnly.

The boy stopped.

“What do you mean go no further?”

“I mean that the drink, the cordial, traps you here. Once you drink that accursed liquid, you are bound to the castle and its owner. It’s payment for the hospitality offered.”

Aghast, the girl looked at the boy, unsure of what to say or do. “But there was no servant here, nor any cordial when I entered.”

“No, there wasn’t.”

“How come?”

“I made sure there wasn’t.”

The girl stared at the boy, and he looked right back at her with a pair of cloudy grey eyes. The boy from the window.

“You’re the boy who I saw in the window!” she exclaimed.

The boy nodded. “Yes. I made sure there was no one here to welcome you.”

“But why? Why help me?” the girl asked, perplexed at the boy’s kindness.

The boy looked down at his feet. Deep sorrow filled his eyes as he lifted his face and looked at her, “Because me and every one of the servants in this house, were once just like you. Wanderers who stopped for a bite…and never ended up leaving.”

Sympathy washed over the girl as she stared desolately at the young boy in front of her with his dishevelled hair and creased clothes. She took him in properly - his scarred hands that were balled up into fists, the worn-out shoes, and the thundercloud eyes filled with anguish.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head, “It’s not your fault.”

“Let me help you,” the girl offered. “I can find a way to get out of here. There’s this door that I came through. Perhaps you can escape through it?”

The boy smiled sadly, “I’m bound to this castle, there’s no way I can set foot outside.”

“But you don’t need to!” the girl blurted out. “We just have to go outside into the courtyard, and I can wish for it. And it will appear.”

Sceptical, the boy looked quizzically at the girl. Had she gone mad?

“A magical door?” he asked, doubtfully.

“Yes, it sounds mad, but would you just come outside and see?”

The boy opened his mouth to protest when a sharp sound filled the air. Rhythmic and fast paced, the sound of bells echoed off the walls around them. Voices could be heard somewhere nearby, yelling and shouting amidst the clang of the bells.

Colour drained from the boys’ face. “Oh no, you need to get out of here.”

He grabbed her fist. “We need to move,” he yelled over the commotion.

As they exited the kitchen into the courtyard, a murder of crows flew overhead, cawing loudly. The smell of strawberries had been replaced with an acrid burning smell, and a soft drizzle had begun to pour.

The girl raced towards the drawbridge with the boy on her heels. At the edge of the castle walls the girl stopped.

The boy nearly crashed into her. “You need to go!” the boy shouted.

“Wait.” The girl shushed him and focused. She wasn’t sure what she was meant to do but she wished for her door to appear. Picturing the brown pine door with the window, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Inside the castle, the bells were still ringing, and she vaguely heard a door slam shut. High pitched voices coalesced with the sound of the crows, creating a cacophony of noise.

Eyes still shut, the girl focused on her thoughts, hoping something would happen. Beside her the boy suddenly gasped and the girl’s eyelids flew open. In front of her, was the same plain door she had entered through. The boy looked at the girl, hope suddenly filling his eyes. Could he finally escape?

The girl smiled as she placed her hand on the doorknob and pushed the door open. “We step in together, okay?” she whispered as their fingers intertwined.

They breathed deeply, ready to go through, when suddenly a beetroot came whirling at them from behind. It smashed against the doorframe with a definitive crack. Spinning around, the boy saw three guards emerging from the alley with swords in hand.

“Stop there, boy!” one of them yelled.

Another set of guards entered from the right in matching burgundy uniforms.

“Seize him!” a guard yelled, pointing his sword at the boy.

The courtyard erupted into chaos as hordes of guards surrounded the boy and girl. A burly man lunged at them, aiming for the boy’s head.

Next to him, the girl screamed “It’s now or never…” she paused, not knowing his name.

“Riven,” he answered, reading her thoughts.

“Nayla,” the girl replied, as she pulled him forward.

The sound of pounding strides and swords slicing the air was right behind them as they stepped through the door together.

*

Complete darkness and an elongated silence. It engulfed Nayla, weaving and unweaving in gentle movements. She unconsciously flexed her finger, trying to find Riven’s fingers.

If they were there, she couldn’t feel them.

The darkness abruptly fractured, like a mirror cracking into a thousand pieces. A bright light flashed in front of Nayla’s eyes, and she unceremoniously tumbled out the door onto hard gravel. The sun had set a long time ago and the moonlight flickered hauntingly in the pitch-black sky.

Frantically, Nayla grasped for Riven’s hand. The calloused fingers she had been holding only a second ago however, were no longer there.

“Riven?” she called, her throat scratching as she screamed his name.

Where was he?

As tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, Nayla scuffled onto her feet. She stumbled around, looking for the boy who had saved her.

“Riven!” she shrieked once again, praying for an answer somewhere close by.

There was no answer.

Was he still trapped behind that door?

Nayla refused to believe it.

She would go back to the house and find that door, regardless of what Thyrise had said about the same door appearing twice. She would get him back.

Stubbornly, Nayla made her way to ‘Circe’s Gala’. As the house came into view, a chill went down her spine. The house was eerily quiet - there were no lights, no flags, no sign that twinkled brightly. The gate surrounding the estate has been locked shut and a hanging sign read “Closed for the night.”

Nayla’s heart sank, her eyes welling with tears. She needed to help him. She had to.

For several moments, Nayla stayed at the gate, willing them to open. Willing them to give her just a few moments so she could find him. But the gate remained closed, the house cold and uninviting. Reluctantly, Nayla stepped back. She would come back and talk to Thyrise. Surely the owner would have some loopholes.

As a harsh wind filled the air, Nayla walked home, determined to find Riven once again.

*

She was up before sunlight, on her way to ‘Circe’s Gala’. Backpack in hand, high laced boots crunching against the ground, and a midnight blue cardigan wrapped tightly against the morning chill, Nayla ran towards the house. As she neared the house however, something seemed off. She couldn’t see the gate that ran the width of the manor, nor could she see any lights which had glowed from miles away the day before.

Panic surged through her, and she picked up her pace.

Moments later, she stopped in front of the spot where Thyrise’s manor should have stood.

Nayla stifled a gasp as she took in the empty ground in front of her. The large, whimsical house was gone; replaced with a field filled with weeds and dead grass.

‘Circe’s Gala’ had simply vanished.

Almost as if it had never been there all along.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a celebration of literary excellence, offering writers from around the globe a platform to showcase their creativity. This prestigious competition is known for its diversity in entries, spanning across poetry, short stories, essays, and creative writing. Participants have the opportunity to engage with a wide audience, sharing their unique voices and perspectives through their written work.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Zahra Bandukwala for sharing her enchanting short story "Circe's Gala" with us. It has been a pleasure to feature her work in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. We look forward to seeing more of her imaginative storytelling in the future and appreciate her contribution to the world of creative writing.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.