Where the Dead Wait

The grand hall of Ashcroft Manor was buzzing with activity as guests twirled and laughed, their extravagant masks and gowns making them look like a living, breathing art exhibit. The chandelier overhead sparkled, though it was clear it hadn't had a proper cleaning in a century. The room was filled with the clinking of glasses and the music of a waltz that would have made any ghost roll their eyes if they had any.

Eira floated silently in the corner, watching the whole charade with a mix of amusement and frustration. Her ghostly gown swirled around her as if caught in a permanent draft, and she could practically feel her translucent hair getting caught in static electricity. Honestly, it was like watching a soap opera--lots of drama, and everyone seemed oblivious to the impending doom.

Oh look at this, Eira thought, her ghostly eyes narrowing at a group of guests trying to outdo each other with their masks, More feathers, more sequins. Just what this place needs--more sparkle. That's definitely what’s going to save them.

The guests were laughing and dancing as if they hadn't a care in the world, which, of course, made Eira want to laugh. She could practically hear the Manor's floorboards groaning in anticipation, as if they were waiting for an something epic. And by 'epic', she meant another round of their absurdly blissful ignorance.

This is what it's come to, Eira mused, Watching people in fancy outfits prance around while I'm stuck here like the world’s worst party crasher. I bet they think the only thing haunting this place is bad taste in music.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Eira’s mood took on a more serious note--or at least as serious as it could get with her current situation. The Manor's eerie vibe was ramping up, and Eira felt it in her soul. The guests still seemed oblivious, twirling around as if they were dancing on air. She could almost hear them thinking, "Oh, what a lovely ball! Nothing can ruin this perfect night!"

If only they knew, Eira thought with a sigh...The real party is just getting started, and it's one where the guests don't get to leave with a goodie bag.

As the clock struck midnight, Eira's wail began to rise, though it was more of a grumpy groan than a spine chilling scream. The guests' laughter faltered, and the room’s atmosphere shifted, like someone had suddenly turned off the party lights and turned up the creepy factor to eleven.

Time to make my exit, Eira thought, watching with a ghostly smirk as the guests started to look around, most of them leaving, Maybe now they'll understand why I'm always in such a bad mood. Enjoy the party, folks. Just don't forget to check the corners for any lingering spirits with a bone to pick.

With that, Eira drifted off into the shadows, leaving behind a faint echo of her wail and a small bunch of confused, slightly nervous partygoers.

Well, at least they'll have a story to tell--if they make it through the night.

Magdalen Young’s night was spent at the end of the grand hall. The music bounced off the vaulted ceiling and the peeling remains of the paint threatened to stain her sleeves. It was like the walls were reaching out with desperate arms ready to coat boning and white fabric with long-gone blood. Speaking of blood, hers was almost made up of wine by now. After all, she had to do something to kill time between readings.


I wonder… Magdalen’s gaze left the twirling dancers and rested on her half-empty glass. For a second she swirled the remains as if trying to shake away her thoughts. Perhaps I could blindside a servant somewhere and get more, but was boredom the real reason?

Her sigh was buried under the rustling of petticoats and a cacophony of high-pitched laughter. Goosebumps coated her arms as if it were another layer of glitter. Much like the dust, it wasn't going to go anywhere. Her stomach, however, had a different idea as it teetered on the edge of a knotted free fall. Once the wine was drained, something stirred within her nerves, driving her hands to fiddle with the course tablecloth in front of her.

For most, a hunch would be just that. Yet the wailing. That damned wailing has been in my bones for days… Her thoughts began to shred away and her mask bit into her nose. It felt like a white stone against her pale skin. If it wasn't for the gold, one would blend into the other in a ghostly illusion.

Even her mouth was unsettled as the moisture evaporated like the burn of booze. All while the crowd spun like the hands making their journey around the clock. Small groups created their own isolated bubbles on the dance floor. A thousand hushed conversations that smelled like champagne and moth-eaten curtains were disrupted whenever someone braved the crowd. Dancers and carefree witnesses were split like the Dead Sea.

After the ruckus of interruption had hit its peak, someone emerged on the other side. Their hair had come loose from carefully curled ringlets and their mask was slid astray. For a second Magdalen didn't notice their gaze meeting her brown eyes. Still, a pre-formatted greeting left her throat before they slipped into the chair.

“Welcome to Ashcroft Manor. I hope you're enjoying your night of revelry and revival.” She got to her feet and fought with her corset to lay the theatrics on thick with a bow. “I am Magdalen and if you allow me, I’ll be your guide through what's to come. “

The ticking of the clock crept in during the short time it took for an answer. With a slightly shaking breath and focused gaze, Magdalen eased herself into her chair. Perfume filled the air as she reached for the cards between them.

If this was a century earlier, these dresses would have pockets to actually pick. Perhaps this is better. I need this job.

“Of course. “The guest said, raising their voice to be heard over the celebration.

Magdalen let out a somewhat weary smile as she cradled the cards. The thin stock bent within her grip as she began to shuffle the deck. Her hands moved in flamboyant gestures as the cards created a small arc in the air. Bright yellows and reds flashed in swift blurs before resting on her other open hand. The soft pads of her fingertips pressed against a few of them, shifting around the cards.

What use would negative cards have tonight? Magdalen thought as she smoothed the deck against the desk. Although the hall itself seemed to disagree, the floorboards groaned under spinning feet.

“Let’s see what fortune holds, shall we? “Her hands shook as she plucked each card. “I sense the universe has something to tell you, starting with Eight Of Swords. However, this card isn't alone. “

The shaking turned into a growing tremor as if her hands were trying to escape. With nothing to stop it, Magdalen’s stomach plummeted into a sea of churning dread. Not even her breath came out unstrained as she forced it down. The dread tasted like the bitter herbs whose pigment permanently stained her fingers and palms.

“Forgive me, as I was saying, it isn't alone. As it seems, Three Of Swords is whispering a hard truth into your ears.” Despite the dread climbing up her throat, she tried to force a sense of calm into the words. “However, don't let it take up all of your senses, as I fear our last card has a lot more to say. Since it’s a reversed Wheel Of Fortune…”

These weren't the cards I set up. Now is not the time for things to go roug-

Her racing thoughts were stopped short as a chill shot down her spine, as if a claw was desperate to sink into her skin. Rather than another forced-out breath, a sharp, uneasy laugh was freed instead. The ticking of the clock became pointed, almost deadly, as it gave way to bellowing chimes.

It climbed across the music, forcing it down like a struggling victim. The air became a mourners' procession filled with bells. Sweat coated her hands as if to wash her sins clean while the groans of the floorboards joined in. Those groans began to bubble into high-pitched wails. Whether they were ripping up the hardwood or her veins was unclear.

Even if she wanted to scream with the others, her throat constricted like the walls.

Orelia had been casting side gazes everywhere all night, trying to find anything suspicious. There was a sort of ominous air that was covered up by small, casual chatter and the echoes of high heels on the floor. An unsettling feeling in her bones was telling her that she should not be here and that she should leave as soon as possible, but she could feel the pulsing, spiritual power that radiated throughout the manor. She could not find the source to this, but it was clear - this manor was sprawling with unseen supernatural beings. There were many ways for Orelia to draw power for her magic, but if she could draw power from spirits, she could unlock the long dormant power that she had not used since her younger years in training as a witch. The power of spirits was one that towered above all else.

Her theory was confirmed when she read the "Safety Rules" on the wall. Most people brushed past it, but she knew they were foolish. There were some sort of secrets buried here that nobody seemed to know or care about. All the people surrounding her were strolling about with sparkling gowns and cuttingly collared tuxedos as if this was a completely normal ball in a completely normal place. Did no one notice the dark exterior with creeping vines and motionless fog lingering around the manor? Why was everyone so oblivious to what was going on here?

She could even see in the corner of her eye some sort of fortune teller telling people about their future. Orelia discreetly rolled her eyes. Anyone who knew about real magic and witchcraft knew that fortune telling was all nonsense, and telling the future was one of the myths that could not really be performed in real magic. These people were even worse than she thought.

Orelia almost felt embarrassed for dressing up nicely just for this. After all, she wasn't here to enjoy the music and the company of others. Frankly, she was already stressing out over the amount of people and the fear that someone might come up to her and ask her something that might make her look suspicious. She didn't feel that she was particularly blending in, but maybe she was just overthinking.

Based on the not-very-subtle "safety rules", something was going to happen at midnight. Orelia was not sure what, but she did know that it was almost midnight, and that whatever happened, it was going to somehow reveal what any of this meant, and she might finally find out what this huge power source was and if she could access it. She glanced at the clock. Her heart raced with anticipation. Was this her chance to finally unlock her power and do the unthinkable with her magic?

The hand of the clock twitched and moved itself a step for an entire second. It was in that second when Orelia's ears were overflown with a low, ringing cry, like a dull blade piercing her skin. It sounded like some sort of wail, that could not have been caused by anything other than a living being.

The entire hall buzzed with confusion and hushed whispers to each other about what that noise was or where it had come from. But Orelia had a hunch about what it was.

When she was trained to be a witch by Vel Prauchian, she was not really exposed to any other magical creatures or monsters. But she was told stories about them, shown pictures, and they were described to her in great detail. Orelia never thought she would be able to hear a banshee, because she was always told they lived in the most remote and ominous places. Then again, what was Ashcroft Manor but exactly that? She knew that a banshee's cry was a signal that something terrible was about to happen, perhaps death, or something far greater. Orelia was not afraid, merely amazed and transfixed on this sound. It was strange how one could be so intrigued by something so dark and vaguely frightening. She almost felt sorry for herself and the other guests for not considering this as a more serious matter than it was.

As the vibration of the wail resonated and echoed through the hall, Orelia could feel a wave of cold rushing over the bones in her spine, and she felt like she could feel the throbbing power even more. It vibrated throughout her body, seeping into her blood and skin, and it felt so close but so distant and unreachable at the same time. Whatever this power was, she had to find out where it was coming from.

Diana stood outside in the courtyard of Ravenhurst Manor, right before the doors. She looked up at the towering gothic building in awe, eyes scanning every single part of it. Places like this, old with countless years of history behind them while also keeping their glory, always left her breathless. In fact, it left her so much so that she almost forgot just how much she despised wearing a dress.

The building and grounds were all huge, collosal even. It was both awe inspiring and terrifying at the same time. There was so much ground to cover and very little time to cover it all before she was expected to leave. The thought of such a task was daunting and Diana began to feel the fear of failure settling into her chest, quickening her breath and hastening the beating of her heart. The thought rose a bit of panic inside her, seeming life threatening as it had in the past.

I can't fail. I don't have a choice.

Steeling herself and trying to appear calm, she walked up to the rune covered doors but found herself hesitating, tracing the patterns the runes carved in the ancient oak doors. They almost seemed to glow slightly under where her finger traced when she touched them, but as soon as she lifted her hand to look, the mysterious glow was gone. It was almost if it were trying to get her attention away from the doors and draw her farther inside where the music played and guests danced in an enchanting reverie.

She frowned slightly and took a step forward as a few of the guests oddly enough began to leave. Hoping this would give her a good cover to slip inside unnoticed, she took a few more steps inside until she was in the grand hall where most of the party was being held. Once again the vastness of the huge room rose panic inside of her. Just in here there was so much to search and not nearly enough time to search thoroughly.

Upon her entry though, she could feel the mood shift dramatically, it felt darker, creepier, and not at all what it had felt and looked like from outside. She could hear a wail echoing off the walls even. However, even though the other guests seemed spooked, the wails and spookiness didn't phase her in the slightest. If anything, it was probably just something set up to sike guests into leaving earlier. And she would not be among them.

The way her dress skirt was made, allowed her to easily move among the crowds and groups, weaving in between dancing couples on the edge of the dance floor as she made her way neared to the back of the room, hoping not to be noticed before she found a door to slip into and dive deeper into the mysteries of the mansion.

Her eyes spotted a door where unfortunately a group of guests were standing in front of. Asking them to move to get through the door would seem rather odd, she assumed and would most certainly draw attention to herself. Plus, then someone would know where she had gone and she couldn't be having that. If someone where looking for the same treasure and she accidentally led them right to it, it would be game over.

So, she'd just have to wait for them to move.

In the meantime though, there were plenty of refreshments to be had. She made her way to the table, looking for a light snack. As she browsed the selection, her eyes spotted drinks. Having a drink sounded remarkably good but she knew it would just cloud her mind. Maybe later though, if she managed to secure the artifact.

She carefully took a couple light, halloween themed snacks and upon taking the wrapper off of a small cupcake, glanced up to see a poster with rules hung on the wall. her eyes narrowed as she looked at them, reading each. She wanted to brush them aside just as she did with the wails earlier but something about them seemed forboding and legitamite. This started a small conflict inside herself. The reckless side wanting to instantly violate a rule just to see what would happen, and the more cautious side that said to play it safe to get the job done.

In the end, she decided to play it safe though, popping the cupcake in her mouth and smiling a little at the sweet taste of the frosting even though she couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was bound to happen sooner or later.

Eira lingered in the corner of the grand hall, her form faintly shimmering in the dim light, nearly invisible. Midnight had come and gone, and with it, the house had sealed its doors. No one was getting in--or out. The guests below moved anxiously, murmuring among themselves, glancing nervously at the high windows that revealed nothing but darkness. They didn’t know what was happening. But Eira did.

"They never do," she muttered softly to herself, her cold eyes scanning the room.

The grand chandelier vibrated, swaying gently despite the quiet of the room. The candlelight threw eerie shapes across the walls. She could feel it, taste it on the air. Fear. It always bloomed so quickly once they realized they were trapped. But some... some weren't scared. That was a first.

She couldn't help but scoff at how predictable they were. The living--they always thought they had control, that the rules of this world bent to them. But the house had its own rules. It always had. And now, with midnight finally here, those rules belonged to the manor.

Eira drifted closer to the edge of the balcony that overlooked the ballroom, her form swirling with the darkness. She got a glimpse of a few more lingering guests. Eira tilted her head, amused. There was always one--someone who thought they could outsmart the house. She wasn't sure who she'd put her bargain on yet, though.

The clock on the wall ticked. Each second drew them closer, closer to what they couldn't yet see, what they didn't understand. Eira could feel it building beneath the surface, the way the house breathed with a life of its own now that midnight had passed. She had been here long enough to know how it would unfold--slowly at first, with small things going wrong, and then... well, they wouldn't see it coming until it was too late.

They don't realize the house chooses, Eira thought to herself, grinning lightly, and it never chooses the way they expect.

In the corner of her eye she spotted, standing right behind some of the guests behind the wall, the man. Eira never knew what to particularly call this spirit. But he was always wearing a suit-- black, clean, tailored. His face was nothing but distorted, simply a black void that not only Eira could distinguish as human. And all he did was watch. He enjoyed watching. Eira knew he was enjoying the new company. His body language said it all, from the clenching of his skinny fists to the slight tilt of his frame.

Suddenly, it hit her. He knew, too. They all knew. Every single being in this house waited for this day. To them, it'd become a holiday apart from Halloween-- the day they get to eat. The day the spirits of Ashcroft finally get complete the ritual that Lord Ashcroft failed so many years ago.

She drifted back into the shadows, but continued watching, waiting for the first crack in their calm. It wouldn't be long now. Eira would bear witness, as she always did. But there was something different about this group. Something that gave her... hope.

If she could somehow get close to one of them, somehow get in one of their heads, then...

There's a good possibility they could set Eira free. Free from the shackles of the Manor and Lord Ashcroft himself, free from the chains that kept her locked up here for so long.

She could help them.

No, Eira shook her head, If he sees you helping, you're toast. She couldn’t get involved. Not directly. Punishment from Lord Ashcroft was too much a risk. But perhaps she didn't have to. Perhaps she could guide them, just enough to tip the scales.

Eira decided that for now, she'd just linger in the dark. Watch as the living navigated the next five hours. Hope that she didn't have to witness the grotesque slaughtering that she every other time a being gets trapped in the manor. She ended up perching herself gracefully on an old clock in the upper corner of the room.

The Man was no longer behind the guests but had made his way upstairs, passing Eira and disappearing behind the corridor. Just as his shoulder passed through the corner of the turn, the light above Eira flickered, and a few candles went out below her.

She sighed heavily and turned back to the guests. They needed to start moving quick. If they could find Lord Ashcroft's belongings before sunrise, there'd be a good chance they could get out of the Manor, and possibly set Eira free.

If they were smart, they'd check the library first.

Arinyali Hath had subscribed to the youtube channel to research the lexicon, register, and other linguistic properties of youtubers targeting young and teenage audiences. He hadn't expected to be the fifteen millionth subscriber, or to receive an invitation to a fancy ball. But who was he to turn down a chance for free food?

When he'd arrived, he'd paused in front of the steps to admire the architecture of the manor. The gargoyles and the spires were a nice touch. He could see horror movies being filmed here.

The interior of the manor, however, was the opposite of dark and ominous. Arin had woven through the crowd towards the food, where he'd tried one of everything. But he'd quickly gotten full, and dancing wasn't exactly his thing, and so he finally resorted to the novel he'd brought with him.

Arin stood next to the entrance, book in hand. It was a collection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories-- fitting for the setting, no? Soon enough, he was absorbed by, "A Descent into the Maelstrom", practically hearing the violent waters roaring in his ears. He was motionless except for the occasional turning of a page and his eyes flitting over each line.

It could have been minutes or hours until he was drawn out of his book by a sense of wrongness in the room. The clock seemed to tick louder and louder. Arin swept his eyes over the crowd, but most of them were twirling about, just the same as the last time he'd looked up. In fact, there seemed to be even more people here than when he'd arrived.

But wait-- there, a fortune teller. Her hands were shaking, and her expression... And another guest, who looked sharper-eyed than the dancers. Arin frowned. Did they know anything more? But before he could watch them for longer, the clock struck midnight.

And a grumpy wail rose through the room, chilling him to the bone. Arin shivered. The dancers hesitated. Had that been made by a human? Or perhaps the house was simply settling?

A hat fell off his shoulder. Arin jumped practically to the chandelier above.

He felt foolish as he landed, ducking swiftly into a crouch and picking up the fedora. It wasn't the first time this had happened, so he had no right to be this surprised. Apparently his preferred outfits combined with his habit of standing practically motionlessly led to the impression of a coatrack. But combined with the wail... well, finding a stranger's hat on his shoulder did nothing to settle his nerves. Perhaps he should consider changing his armbands to look less like coat hooks.

Arin took a deep breath as he set the hat down on a nearby table. The dancers still hadn't returned to their previous carefree whirling about. Something had fundamentally changed in this room.

But was there anything he could do about it right now? He cast a glance around the room again. No imminent threats he could detect. Perhaps it'd be okay if he returned to his book for a little while...