Not all masks hide innocent revelers. Not all floats belong to harmless partygoers. Not all Krewes are as they seem. In fact, during Mardi Gras, nothing and no one is as they appear.

After all, don’t we wear masks for a reason? To shuck inhibitions, to cast aside normal morality and subscribe to a deeper, more primal Bacchanalian mentality?

It’s a time to party, to run wild, to give in to all those urges, to become a voyeur and exhibitionist all in one, and to explore the deeply-hidden aspects of our personas. Eat, drink, and make merry, for tomorrow we fast. Isn’t that what Mardi Gras used to be for, that time of excess before the period of Lent?

I have news for you, friend. It’s a lot more than that. A whole lot more goes on in the shadows. Not everything that wears a mask is human; it’s a chance for them to walk among us, in the open, and we’d never realize a thing. It’s a time of older rituals, ones meant to appease ancient gods. It’s a time when certain aspects of the spirit world are closer to this world than ever before.

Mardi Gras is more than you think, and in Mardi Gras Madness, eleven authors take you on a terrifying, intriguing tour of what really happens when the lights are dim and the parades pass through the streets.

Michelle West tackles the themes of life, love, and loss, in “Faces Made of Clay.” It’s a haunting, regretful journey for one woman as she struggles to place the past, and her dead son, behind her at last. Will she be able to let go through the mysterious intervention of a group at Mardi Gras? Or will she cling to her strictly routinized life? It’s not as easy a choice as one might think.

Bruce Holland Rogers brings out the excess side of Mardi Gras with “King Corpus.” Andy’s just a nice, normal guy, who comes to Mardi Gras for the “biggest party of his life, one last blowout between college and the working-stiff tedium he was sure would follow for the rest of his life.” But when he’s made the King of the Krewe of Corpus, he finds that it’s easy to be given all you’ve ever desired, and still be hungry for more. His last blowout may be more then he ever imagined. But why is the Krewe of Corpus giving him so much, and why is the old fortune-teller warning him to leave before it’s too late?

“Masking Indian” is Charles de Lint’s contribution to the story. Unlike the rest, this one takes place in Newford, and guest-stars everyone’s favorite, Jilly Coppercorn, as well as Wendy (who has a Tree of Stories.) We’re introduced to a new character, Marley, who works as an art director’s assistant, and has a haunted Mardi Gras costume — haunted by memories of a happier time, and of a deceased friend. It’s an odd story, in de Lint’s typical style. The unknown isn’t necessarily something to fear, but it does deserve healthy respect. It’s all about coping, growing, and moving on, as well as about secrets, ghosts, and magic.

“Sacrifice,” by Jane Lindskold, is another story about ancient deals and old gods. In this case, the titular sacrifice refers to the young woman who, every year, is given to the river god to perpetuate the pact between New Orleans and the river. Since the city’s built so close to water, one angry god could mean one drowned city. Mirabelle is just one of many potential brides for the river god, and no one knows who it’ll be until the end of the ceremony. It’s a compelling story of the prices we pay to uphold our end of the bargain. For these people, Mardi Gras is more than just a party. It’s a celebration, and a time to mourn.

“May Oysters Have Legs,” by David Bischoff, is a truly unusual tale of zombies, hitmen, Mardi Gras, vengeance, and loyalty. All I can say about this one is that it’s not what you expect.

Then you get “Fat Tuesday,” by R. Davis. How much fun -can- a vampire have in a city full of drunken revelers?

Perhaps my favorite of the lot comes from Elizabeth Ann Scarborough, in the form of “The Invisible Woman’s Clever Disguise.” Quite simply, Vanessa, the invisible woman, is a sad victim of society and perception, rendered invisible because she isn’t young and pretty anymore, and no one cares to look at her in that manner. Invisible, she finds more out of life than she ever did before. Unafraid, uninhibited, she can go anywhere, stay anywhere she likes, take whatever she wants. But she can’t interact with normal people. So when she’s invited to a Mardi Gras ball, she accepts, intrigued. Little does she realize that the Krewe of Melusine is not what it appears to be. It is, in fact, the home for others of society’s rejects and mysteries. It’s a tale of perception, acceptance, and possibly, just possibly, love. It’s clever, and plays on pop culture and literature in a new way, and positively begs for more stories in that same vein.

Gary A. Braumbeck gives us “Down In Darkest Dixie Where The Dead Don’t Dance,” (phew, what a title!) which is quite simply a ghost story with several twists. Based partially in fantasy, partially in everyday science, it blends the various elements together to give us the tale of a just-dead cop investigating the murder of a Goth girl. It’s got revenge, mystery, ghosts, love, regret, and of course, the chaotic surreality of Mardi Gras, a time when spirits are able to again touch the earth.

To round it out, there are also stories from John Helfers (“Farewell To The Flesh”) and Peter Crowther (“Songs of Leaving”), as well as Nancy Holder (“Skeleton Krewe”).

While at first, from the description of the book, and the authors involved, one might be tempted to pigeonhole this in horror, it’s more of a dark fantasy anthology, one that thoroughly explores some of the many storytelling possibilities inherent in the Mardi Gras atmosphere. I recommend this book, especially if you happen to be a fan of any of the participating authors. Because it’s not from one of the standard publishing houses, you may need to look around for it. Good luck, though. It’s worth it. There’s bound to be something for everyone, so even if the stories don’t all resonate, at least some should. And with an anthology, it’s always hit or miss anyway. So say farewell to some coinage, and enjoy a feast of stories while you still can.