A Night in the Thistleton Estate Cellar

One of the dancing girls nervously twisted a strand of her hair as we hid, the five of us tucked behind the bar, unable to advance into the conjoined kitchen as the creatures who stalked the dance hall would likely see the door fly open to accommodate us. We braced ourselves as fear gallivanted through our veins, driven on by the squelching and twisting and pops we heard as those who had failed to depopulate the room swiftly enough get devoured, disembowelled, and dismembered by the beings Noora and I presumed had also devoured those who had ridden the train to this location a few hours before. We’d smelled blood in the air and went to investigate the source, which is how we stumbled across the blood and bones splashed and strewn throughout the cabins on a train thrown from its track. Noora had set out to see if we could find survivors when we both heard a scream reverberate through the nearby forest. The trees led us to the throat responsible, though we found little else of the person to whom it had been connected. Music drifted past our ears then, carried by the faint breeze on the backs of blood droplets and unfettered apprehension; we followed our nose, then, to the massive house in which a midwinter party, amongst various organs and limbs, was being thrown.

And now Noora and I quieted and hid alongside two dancers, the remaining bartender, and a cellist. The dancers had been visiting the bar for a drink and a snack, which the bartender was serving when she noticed a disturbance in the dancing mob on the opposite side of the hall. The cellist, who was nursing a glittering concoction he’d called “siren’s blood,” only lightly intoxicating, then caught the sound of strings being stretched beyond their ability, alongside what he described as “the popping you hear when gunpowder has found your fireplace,” which galvanised him to immediately leap onto the opposite side of the bar and suavely save both himself and his drink from termination by what he presumed would be more an explosion of heat and air than of bone and sinew. Perhaps fortunately for the five of us, and his drink, it was the latter rather than the former.

Typically, Noora or I would have thought to separate so that she could catch a glimpse of any prospective exits or chances of defeating the beings we had only tangentially encountered, but the two of us were too frightened to consider it, finding that it was possible the mere perceiving of those creatures would alert them to our presence, and thus the lives of five would end almost the exact opposite of how it began. The cellist, having finished his drink, set down the glass as softly as possible on the shelf behind him, so that it wouldn’t impede us if we needed to sprint anyplace. The bartender kept trying to see if she could catch glimpses of the rest of the dance hall within the glasses shelved above us. The dancers signed to each other, which seemed to keep them as calm as the cellist, whose eyes were closed, legs were crossed, and breaths were shallow – they were meditating. The bartender’s eyes fixated on a particular glass and widened; she could see what was happening behind us. She turned to me and nodded at the glass, showing me with her fingers that it was on the second highest shelf. I scanned the glasses on that shelf until I found one which captured the entirety of the dance hall.

I realised that the crunching and slurping behind us had quieted considerably because the majority of the creatures responsible for the carnage had stopped moving, immersed in the blood and sinew of their eviscerated prey. Presumably, they had fallen asleep after their feast. Only one remained alert, chomping down on what I thought was likely a femur, treating it was one might the stick around which one’s favourite frozen dessert might be found.

What are these things? Noora wondered aloud, trying to translate the image in the glass to something we recognised.

I looked towards the side of the bar the dancers had joined us through, the one exposed to the entrance to the dance hall, and wondered if we could be stealthy enough to creep along the wall to escape the hall. The dancers I felt confidence in the most; they were used to being light on their feet. The bartender and the cellist I wondered about, though from how deftly the cellist had moved I was optimistic about their lightfootedness, even if it were merely a by-product of fright. I brought my idea to the bartender, waving my hand before their eyes to garner her attention before pointing towards the hall’s exit.

She shook her head, gesturing towards the kitchen.

I pointed to my ears and then mimed opening the door.

She shook her head, touched an ear and formed an X with her forearms.

The last one’s slowing down, Noora alerted me.

The bartender and I turned our attentions to the glasses again and watched the remaining creature drop the split femur to the ground. She gently brought the cellist’s consciousness back to our plane while I waved at the dancers; the bartender slowly slid open the door and held it open for the cellist, the dancers, and then me. As soon as the bartender closed the door, she stepped around the other four of us and opened a small cabinet nestled between the sink and a taller cabinet. From within the cabinet she’d opened she plucked a small child who had fallen asleep despite the turmoil on the other side of the wall.

Oh, Noora murmured on my shoulder. That’s the other heartbeat I kept hearing.

Internally I remarked on how glad I was that we listened to the bartender; I couldn’t imagine how terrible it would have been to be separated from one’s child during a mess like this.

“Is... is that your son?” one of the dancers asked the bartender.

“My little brother, Nash. I usually find a sitter for him when I’m called into work here, but I couldn’t reach any of them tonight, so...”

Nash started moving a little in his sleep, murmuring nonsense until he saw his sister’s face and muttered, “Yas?”

“Hey, Nash. We have to be very quiet, okay?”

“I heard a lot of screams, so I hid like you told me to!”

Yas smiled with pride at her brother, trying to belie the fear running down her cheeks. “You did so well, Nash! Always the best hider!”

Nash beamed a moment before realising that the two of them were not alone. “Who are all these people back here?”

There was a pause as the rest of us figured out what to say.

“We work with your sister,” one of the dancers started. “I’m Chrissy, and that’s Bass; we’re dancers!” Bass wiggled her fingers in greeting to the decreasingly groggy youth.

“I’m Solomon,” introduced the cellist. “I play the cello most nights.”

“Is that the tall one?” Nash asked.

Solomon smiled nodding. “Yeah, it’s the tall one.”

“Why do you make it sound so sad all the time? It always sounds like it’s crying!”

“Sometimes she cries with happiness, like your sister is now,” Solomon grinned.

Nash accepted the cellist’s reply and turned to me, who had been surveying the kitchen for whatever other exit it might offer. When I didn’t immediately introduce myself, Nash prompted me, “What do you do here?”

I softly smiled, turning my gaze upon the child and offering, “I’m just a visitor tonight.”

“I was wondering if you came with the train,” Chrissy remarked. “Never seen you around here before, is all.”

“Thankfully, I didn’t.”

“Why ‘thankfully’?” queried Bass.

“The train brought those. Which likely spared the cities nearby, for now.”

“What’s he talking about, Yas?” Nash whispered.

“Remember how I told you that sometimes tourists can get a little loud and rowdy?” Nash nodded at his sister’s recollection, and she continued, “There are some really bad, mean tourists out there right now. We’re trying to hide from them.”

What happens when they wake up? Will they search for another party to crash, and this time find any of the local cities? We have to stop them, get rid of them somehow...

“Is there another exit out of here?” I asked Yas.

She explained, “Only downstairs. The cellar leads to the back of the estate.”

“Nothing good ever happens in a basement,” Chrissy groaned.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding her concern.

Chrissy looked at me, assuming I was joking at first, then appalled that I didn’t connect whatever dots she was seeing. “In... in horror films. Go downstairs, people get trapped and... um...” She drew a line across her neck to avoid alerting Nash to the notion of death.

“Have you like, never seen any scary movie ever made?” Bass scoffed.

I shook my head.

“I haven’t, either, but Yas told me that we’re going to see the new one coming out in a few weeks together!” Nash exclaimed quietly.

“I’ve already told my boss I can’t come in that night,” Yas confirmed as she kissed her brother’s forehead.

“Mo-vie night! Mo-vie night!” Nash cheered before we could remind him to stay quiet.

The room fell silent as we listened to hear whether his outburst had alerted the creatures that we were within the kitchen. A long few breaths passed in quietude, our ears straining to catch even the most remote of indications of our demise.

“Although the tendency for films to mirror reality is great, I don’t think we have another choice,” Solomon murmured. “We need to escape this place. Warn others about what we’ve seen and heard here tonight. I don’t know... send in a fire squad or something.”

“The fire squad?” Bass scoffed.

“They’re the biggest men and women I could think of,” Solomon defended.

“Literally,” Chrissy concurred.

“If you’ll grab the flashes from the wall there,” Yas asked Chrissy, motioning towards the wall laden with repair and other tools, including three tubular light sources, each of which Chrissy tested, “I’ll set up something that’ll alert us if someone or something tries to come after us. That way I can leave the porthole open.”

As Yas got to work, Chrissy and Solomon took things they felt might be helpful: a few empty bottles, the bat from beside the cabinet Nash had been hiding in. Bass took two knives from above the faucets. Thus readied, we descended down the ladder, into the cool cellar, where – so far as we could tell – nothing but darkness and cooler air awaited us. Yas, with Nash clinging to her back, dropped off the ladder last and aimed her light on the guidance nailed to a nearby post.

“There’s a corridor that’ll take us back into the house, but this way is how we’ll make it onto the grounds,” Yas explained, dragging her finger along the path we would take for the latter. “From there, we can make our way to Thistleton, alert the authorities. Maybe get some waffles or something.”

“I love waffles!” whispered Nash.

“I know!” whispered Yas in kind as she directed her light in the direction indicated by the map and led the way.

Chrissy and Bass shared a flash, leaving Solomon and I to walk together although I wasn’t in need of the flash in order to see. Noora had found the frequencies necessary for me to see in darkness when we were youths, and had even taught Maki, my sister’s spirit, how to do it. I entertained Solomon’s desire to cooperate, though; it was nice to have someone besides myself to speak with.

“That is one smart kid,” Solomon remarked, striking up conversation after a few moments of quietude between us. “I’ve a mind to give Yas my business card for lessons.”

“Do you have children yourself?”

Solomon shook his head, indicating otherwise. “My wife and I have tried, but it’s proven unsuccessful so far, unfortunately.”

“I’m sure when the world is aligned, you’ll find yourself with a beautiful one.”

“That is a kind wish,” the cellist observed. “Thank you.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Three years. I don’t know how she stands me, but I’m grateful for her. Really helped me get out there, share music with the world. And now I can’t stop – something that the Solomon of even two years ago couldn’t have foreseen.”

“Were you just shy about it?”

More blood ahead, cautioned Noora.

“I was too shy to even properly leave the house for more than a few hours at a time, to be honest. But Alice is patient, and loves being outside. And I love her. So we worked on it.”

Lots of it.

I nodded, understanding both of the beings speaking with me.

“Are you married... um... I don’t think we ever got your name...”

I sniffed the air and tensed, anticipating that at least one of the paths ahead was not as clear as we desired it to be. “No,” I murmured, answering the first question before excusing myself and passing the dancers and the siblings.

“What’s wrong, mister... um...”

“There’s something wrong ahead,” I answered in haste and hushed tone, listening out for the repulsive indicators of ravenous, mindless mastication. I heard a scraping, a whimper, and a splatter, the last occurring simultaneously with the shattering of bone. I leapt back to Yas’ side and lowered her flash, indicating for Chrissy and Solomon to do the same.

“Silent, Nash,” Yas cautioned. Bassprepared her knives as a bottle materialised in Chrissy’s hand. Solomon readied his bat, keeping alert as his eyes swept the darkness for any swift and potential threat. Noora flew ahead to survey the area for any creatures who might have been awaiting the moment to strike as I dropped my weight, readying myself for the next moment.

It was then I heard what seemed like snoring, and Noora returned to my shoulder.

There are so many of them ahead, blocking us from reaching the grounds. We’ll have to go back into the house.

I relayed what Noora had told me to the rest of the group, all of whom groaned in frustration and protest.

“Do any of you know another way off the estate?” I asked.

“There’s the performers’ entrance,” Chrissy offered. “All the way on the opposite side of the house, closer to the river and the railway, but it might be our way out.”

“I don’t know that route,” Yas admitted.

“You’re not supposed to, anyway,” Chrissy replied, patting the bartender’s shoulder on her way past us, leading us towards the corridor returning us to the house.