And then it happened. Tad saw it right before his eyes. Whitehall kicked it into high gear. The style of dance, if dance it was, was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. It was a little bit of disco crossed with a waltz and a chorus line. Whitehall’s feet were a blur, his hands a whirlwind of obscure sign language, like a magic trick coupled with a mixed martial arts display. It was hard to describe because it was happening so rapidly. The man’s body had become a miniature tornado, complete with gale force winds. Whitehall’s aura was swelling, inflating like a balloon. It towered above the heads of the crowd, against the sky, a glowing purple force and malice, blinking and flickering, in human form but featureless, its movements those of the man that it represented. And it was dancing, dancing along with Whitehall.
Below, Much was pulling out all the stops. He leapt and capered. He was bathed in sweat. Eyes wild. Knees buckling. Something was happening to the ground, the floor boards on which the mob was standing, in the vicinity of Whitehall. They were being pulled in toward him. Gradually, steadily. Much was now trying to dance and backpedal at the same time in a frantic moonwalk. Again the thought came to Tad, how comical it would be, were it not for the dire implications of what would happen if Much was sucked in. Not that Tad actually knew what would happen, but he would have been willing to bet large sums of money that it wasn’t anything good, and the expression on Much’s face said he was in complete agreement. He was being pulled irresistibly toward Whitehall like water down a drain. Much had given up all pretense of dancing now and was in a flat out run, his legs pumping furiously, trying to escape with all his might. Whitehall, smiling, only moved the faster. Like a black hole, his will was inescapable. Undeniable. All of it focused on Much, the unfortunate offender. The voices in Tad’s head, touched off by the Essence, wanted out. The Foxlight flickered with a strobe light pulse and an urgency that would have panicked a crowd of epileptics. The wind howled, the stars swam overhead. Whitehall’s grim sentinels in the crowd stood motionless, their auras proud and tall, feeding on the moment. The space between Much and the whirlwind that was his tormentor was rapidly disappearing. Pulling toward each other like young lovers before the first timid kiss.
Tad tore his eyes away in time to look toward the railing, where the goggle-eyed master of ceremonies sat surrounded by his cronies. Daddy was doubled over with laughter, clutching his midsection. He was laughing so hard tears were rolling down his face. He was in imminent danger of falling over the railing, and how Tad hated him in that single moment. This is a glimpse of the truth, what I’m seeing here. I would do well to remember it. A man who takes sick pleasure in the suffering of others. He knew what would happen to Much. He knew this would happen. And even as Tad looked over, shooting daggers from his eyes, Daddy looked across and his eyes met, and Daddy gestured toward his head back to the two figures in the circle, as if to say, watch what happens next. And Tad looked over in time to see the conclusion of the contest. Daddy might have assigned the role of jury to the crowd, and that of judge to himself, but neither would be necessary. Whitehall was passing judgment without their aid. Much was struggling, but could no more extricate himself than the fly can from the web. Tad could see his aurastretching. It was being pulled taut, like taffy. The Brit was moving so fast it was physically painful to watch. Tad felt sick to his stomach, as though the Essence were coming back on him. The music had been drowned out. All he could hear was the noise of the wind, a ringing in his ears, the voices in his head. He could feel the force, the suction being generated by Whitehall’s dancing. He felt that he would be swept away, were it not for the fact that all of the Brit’s attentions were focused on poor Much. Stitch’s hand was an iron band, crushing his shoulder. Too much. He could feel himself being stretched. His very skin lifted from the bones. Every hair standing up. Something had to give.
Something did. There was a resounding SNAP, like a giant rubber band being released. Tad, his eyes watering, could just see Much, aura and all, being pulled head over heels toward the barely visible Whitehall. There was a mighty flash of light, a snapshot being taken of the horrific moment by some unseen celestial camera. And Much was gone. Not a hair remained. Everything gradually discovered itself again. The crowd, standing about in shocked silence. The band, standing with glazed expressions on their faces, smoke rising from their instruments. The house, with its unending pulse, and its Wytchlight or Foxlight returned to mood lighting status, hovering tranquil around the baseboards with a soothing rosy glow. The sky above, a fine midsummer night on display for all to see. A light breeze ruffling the tree tops across the field, their leafy crowns indifferent to what had just taken place. A continual ringing in the ears, like a bomb had just gone off. And another sound too, identified by Tad with no need of looking in that direction. Daddy. He was applauding, slapping his hands together, oblivious of all about him. Looking around, Tad saw that the ghostly figures that had emerged to satisfy their curiosity and lend their support had slipped away as silently as they’d arrived. Standing alone now in the cleared space, Whitehall’s face was turned up toward the sky. His eyes were closed. A look of the most utmost rapture on his face. Completely sated, a python that has just gorged to the very limits of its capacity. And something happened then that Tad did not expect; it was not the first time that night, nor would it be the last. As Whitehall stood motionless, savoring his victory, the crowd, as if on cue, exploded with a barrage of thunderous cheers. Tad’s mouth fell open slightly as he looked from one side to the other, not comprehending. These same onlookers, that moments before had been watching with disgust and horror as one of their own had been consumed before their very eyes, were now applauding his killer. They rushed forward, many of them clapping Whitehall on the back or offering him drinks. Among them even the members of Much’s crew that had been urging him to rally. Tad felt a newfound revulsion for those in attendance at Decadence. Everyone loves a winner, I guess. Whitehall appeared to be accepting the adulation with less than good grace. His nose was turned up and a spasm crossed his face every time one of the people in their decorative costumes touched him. Quickly he turned and strode away, trailing admirers behind him. Savages. They’re a pack of bloodthirsty savages. I guess that’s what it means to be decadent. Complete disregard for human life. Apparently Stitch was having similar thoughts. Having removed his hand from Tad’s shoulder, the big man was stepping through the nearest window, back into the interior of the house. Not knowing quite what else to do, Tad followed. “Wait,” he called. “Wait up!” Stitch slowed his pace. They were standing in a dim room with plush, different shaped cushions lining the base of the walls. Various guests stood or sat in groups, drinking and talking. In one corner several were playing a game with dice. Others were climbing in through the window from the porch, one of them familiar.
“Hum!” Daddy said, tottering up, adjusting the sombrero on his head, brushing himself off. He looked inordinately pleased with himself. “Ha! Yes! Well, that was most thrilling, I think you’d agree.” He took a deep sip from his glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Stitch was walking again, seemingly not in the mood for conversation, and Tad hurried along behind him. The last thing he wanted was to lose his guide, especially if it meant being left alone with Daddy, who hopped into line behind them, squawking for them to slow down. “Hold up now, boys! Wait for old Daddy!”
“Where are we going?” Tad panted. They were moving along a wide, carpeted hall with doors on either side. As they passed the open doorways Tad was afforded brief glimpses of various forms of chaos taking place inside. “Are you mad?” He felt dumb asking it, but his mind was still somewhat dazed by what had just taken place. On top of that, he was starting to feel extremely thirsty, and it was a specific thirst. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he wanted more of the Essence. Wanted it very badly indeed.
“Just frustrated, I guess,” Stitch said, speaking without looking back. “It’s my own fault, really. Expect something to act outside its nature, and you’re bound to
be disappointed. It’s best to just forget about it, and not let it ruin the night.” He took a sip from the stein.
“Can I…” Tad began, but before he continued, Stitch cut him off.
“I can’t give you any from my glass. Sorry. But we’re going to The Eye, and there’s a source there siphoned off from below. You can have a hit when we get there.”
“The Eye?” Tad asked, but Stitch merely raised one eyebrow and did not reply. Behind them, Daddy was singing snatches of a nonsensical song, pausing to greet people as they moved through the hall, which twisted and turned as they went. The master of the house was known wherever he went, and it seemed as though he was never called by the same name twice. The death that they had just witnessed (if that was indeed what had happened, and Tad wasn’t a hundred percent sure on this), seemed to have made no impact on Daddy or his mood. He skipped along, bringing up the rear, occasionally batting at Tad’s hat like a mischievous child, at which point Tad would turn and swipe at him and he would scamper away giggling, holding his sombrero in place with his free hand. The three of them arrived at a landing with a spiral staircase of cast iron, like a fire escape, heading up and vanishing through a hole in the ceiling. There was another, broader staircase turning gradually to the left, heading to the first floor below, or possibly the second; Tad had completely lost track. There was what appeared to be a man passed out halfway down the stairs, his body wrapped in a sequined turquoise cloak. A gaunt blond waif tugged at his arm, trying to rouse him. He could hear, from somewhere nearby, the sound of someone crying, softly but insistently.
“You great lunk-headed baboon!” Daddy said. “Ahem! Ha! What are we doing here? Let’s go downstairs. We’re going to miss the snake charming!” He shoved Tad aside, striding up to Stitch with a businesslike air. Tad didn’t much mind. He was becoming thirstier by the moment, eying the sloshing clear liquid that wasn’t quite liquid, visible only inches away in Daddy’s oversized margarita glass, that he couldn’t share because of one of the pointless and seemingly arbitrary “house rules.”
“I’m expected,” Stitch said patiently, in a tone that Tad was now familiar with; it was the special one that the large man reserved for trying to reason with his companion whose very existence and lifestyle was the antithesis of reason. “There are people gathered up above that I’m supposed to be meeting, and I’m already late because of your little cockfight. I’ve been called on to deliver an oration.”
Daddy pressed his glass into Tad’s hands and took a nosedive onto the carpeted floor,
flipping over onto his back and clutching at his throat, making gagging noises. “Hack!
Blarg! Oration, is it? I know what that means! More of that diarrhea of the mouth that
you have the audacity to call poetry!”
“I don’t call it anything. It is what it is.”
“And what it is, is a verbal sleeping pill that has no place at a party, much less a wing
-ding of such monumental…hey, hey, hey! None of that!” He snatched the margarita
glass from Tad, who had been about to take a sip. “Get your own, you little back slider!”
Tad snarled at him, and Daddy giggled. “I think he’s gotten a taste for it. You’ve created
a monster.”
“Let’s go up,” Tad said, his voice sounding hoarse in his ears. The way he was
feeling, if the Essence was to be had up above, then up he would go, should all the demons of hell be waiting for him. You’ve created a monster. He leapt onto the first step and began to climb, Stitch following, Daddy in his sombrero at the rear. As they climbed, Tad licking his dry lips, he could see over the railing to the stairs that descended to the next floor down, where a gaggle of half-naked women streamed past, laughing as they chased a dwarf in a clown suit. The dream is ongoing. Or is it a nightmare? He thought that it was his own voice, speaking in his head. But who could tell? The novelty of being able to have conversations without ever needing to open his mouth was wearing away. How ironic, then, that he was craving more of the very thing that he could only assume was causing them. He emerged through a perfectly round hole in the floor and stepped out, forgetting the thirst for the moment, as he could only marvel, not for the first time tonight, at his surroundings. Many was the time, in the past weeks, that he had approached the towering mansion in the field, sweating as the sun beat down from
overhead, pushing his way through the waist high grass, and wondered about the portal that held sway over all, taking in not only the grounds below, but the tops of the trees, the sky above, and presumably everything for miles around. He’d wondered about the room that contained the portal, for he was sure that there must be one, yet he’d never been able to find it in his scouring of the upper stories with their many locked doors. Now he need wonder no more, for there he stood. All her doors will be unlocked and flung wide. All her skeletons will emerge from their closets. In his imagination he’dalways pictured it as the most marvelous to look upon, putting every other room and ever other sight in the house to shame. And in this at least, now that he stood there at last and gazed about him, he was not disappointed.
The room that Stitch had referred to as The Eye was perfectly round. It was like being inside a snow globe. It was extremely large, not the size of the cavern below that contained the source of the Essence, but rivaled by no other in the house, with the possible exception of the ballroom. The hole in the floor through which Tad had climbed, and from which his two companions now scrambled, (Stitch with no small amount of
difficulty, due to his bulk), was one of about two dozen that lined the chambers’ perimeter, like the tunnels of a rabbit warren. In that respect it was similar to the cavern
under the house, in that it had many entrances or exits. There were also many circular doorways leading to smaller side chambers set in the walls. Over each doorway was a symbol carved into the wall, representing a different phase of the moon. Some of the doors were closed, but in the rooms where they’d been left open, people could be seen mingling or lying sprawled on beds, some in the throes of sexual congress, seemingly without a trace of self consciousness. There were others already there, scattered the length of the room, and when they saw Stitch and Daddy, greetings came soaring in from all around for the houses’ two principal occupants. They each responded in their own way, Stitch nodding graciously, Daddy making courtly gestures and generally a complete fool of himself.
The most striking feature of the room by far was The Eye itself, a circular portal midway up one of the severely sloping walls, probably exceeding a hundred feet from end to end, set with partitions of clear glass with iron strips crisscrossing it like lines of latitude and longitude on a map. Since The Eye was bare, lidless, it seemed as though it looked outward, or possibly inward, in a constant state of shock or alarm. From The Eye the light of the moon and stars above was radiant, dazzling, a pool in the center of the room that shimmered delightfully and made Tad think of dancing. But this thought led to Much’s fatal duel and tragic end witnessed such a short time ago, and he closed his eyes and shook his head, not wanting to replay the event in his mind. You are in control. And as he repeated this to himself, as Stitch had advised him, he felt speedily better.
The nearly blinding moonlit spot in the center of the room was where the eye was most naturally drawn, but as his eyes began to grow accustomed to it, some of the other details began to register. All about the room, along the walls in the shadows, activity was taking place. Here, as in several of the other rooms he’d visited, were low couches and mattresses where guests lounged, taking their ease, or stood and spoke in low tones, their laughter musical as it floated through the stillness like silvery chimes. In one corner he could see a mass of naked limbs, bodies intertwined, and he heard softly muted moans; blushing, he turned away, but his eye kept finding reason to go roving back in that direction. When Stitch touched his shoulder he jumped. “This is a place of power,” he said, “like that below. If it could be said that the cavern is
the nether focal point for the energy that flows through this old ruin, then this is its equivalent above ground. The Eye of Heaven it is sometimes called, or The Garden of the Moon. This is a place to clear the mind, or to speak earnestly of what troubles you, so that you may be rid of it and move on, or to talk with sincerity to others of things that you would have them know, for they will be compelled to listen. Like many other chambers in this place, few can enter here but every seven years. If you would drink, you may do so,” he said, pointing across the shaft of light. Following where he pointed, Tad could see a small crowd gathered, and he hurried gratefully toward it. As he stepped into the light, the voices that had lately taken up residence in his head all cried out joyously. It was exhilarating, and he gasped with pleasure, slowing his steps to prolong his time there until he stepped into the cool of the darkness again. Here in the shadows the only source of light was the Wytchlight or Foxlight hovering ghostly near the floor, and the auras of the people gathered. Even with these aids, the features of those standing were difficult to see, Tad’s back now being turned away from the moonlight streaming through The Eye.
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