Fully consumed

CW: Themes and/or references to murder, implied cannibalism

Slowly, the iron-wrought gates of Blackthorne Manor opened, shrieking in pain. Father sat beside me, unmoving and pale as the trunks of the Ghost Gums that lined the path ahead.

Despite it only being afternoon, darkness claimed the dead forest. A horrid stench of decay prickled my nose. For a moment, I contemplated begging Father to turn back, away from the thorns and branches that seemed to reach for our throats with their spindly claws. Not that I imagined the undead, rotten-skinned horse pulling the carriage would have obliged such a request. Much like the gate, the beast appeared to be under some unspoken command of its master—Lord Iblis Blackthorne.

In my periphery, Father fidgeted with the silver wedding band on his finger, twisting and rubbing, but never taking it off. He never did. Clung to the thing like his life depended on it.

Still, it troubled me, the frantic way his thumb now rolled the ring around and around and around.

A nervous tell.

A reminder.

Mother.

The reason we’d come here.

The unknown illness that had left her bedridden for months had worsened with each passing day. Would soon take her life. We could no longer afford the herbal remedies the healer had enjoined her to take, nor the price of his visits.

Some days ago, she’d nearly succumbed, choking on her own blood after spending the entire night coughing her throat raw. So, in a last attempt to save her life, Father had struck a desperate bargain with Lord Blackthorne.

I was to tend to his twin daughters for an afternoon, in return for her replenished health.

How the lord would accomplish such a thing, I couldn’t begin to fathom. But then again, neither could I explain how a rotten beast had found its way to our hovel and back without so much as a spoken word or crack of a whip.

When at last the gates fully opened and the shrieking ceased, the carriage lurched back into motion, gravel crunching beneath the wooden wheels like fragile bird skulls.

The sprawling spires of the gothic estate came into view, light flickering in a single window of the top-left tower. It reminded me of something from a scary bedtime story. Thick fog soaked the courtyard floor; at its centre, thorny vines crawled up a stone gargoyle statue.

At the bottom of the manor’s stairs, the horse halted.

Father remained seated, offering me a tight smile, his eyes not quite meeting mine as I stepped down from the carriage. Something about his behaviour unsettled me. Granted, we had a lot going on—but I had scarcely seen Father so… off. Distanced. On our mostly silent ride here, I’d found myself wondering if perhaps he’d withheld the true extent of the agreement he’d struck with Lord Blackthorne.

Glazed over, Father’s gaze remained fixed on the dark abyss beyond the gardens, thumb rolling over the silver band once again. I’d meant to ask if he would await my return in the carriage, but chose not to break him from his thoughts.

Instead, I gathered the rich black fabric of the dress Lord Blackthorne had provided, breathing shallow from the foreign constriction of the corset cinching my ribs painfully tight as I climbed the steps. Tall doors opened to a black void when I reached the top.

“Hello?” I dared, stepping over the threshold. Goosebumps raced up my skin as I shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. A high-pitched yelp escaped me when the doors slammed shut behind me. Trapped.

I stood for a moment, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

To no avail.

It was as if the place itself was made of shadow.

Arms outstretched, I stepped deeper into the bowels of the manor.

Childlike giggles surrounded me. Then skittering footsteps. A sharp tug at my hair.

My pulse raced as I hurried back toward where I hoped the doors were, desperate to escape.

I collided with something hard.

A tall, pale figure appeared before me, gaslamp in hand, dressed in a neat suit. The butler, I assumed. The dim light revealed two gaping holes where his eyes should have been, twisting my stomach as I stumbled back a step.

“Right this way, Miss Harriette.” His mouth didn’t move when he spoke, yet I followed. Sconces lit the stairwell as we climbed around and up. Higher.

More giggling.

After what felt like an eternal ascent, we arrived at a long hallway, where I presumed I would be assigned a room for the evening.

The giggling sounded ahead now.

Two identical girls stood mid-hallway, perhaps eight years old. Both wore their black hair in pigtails, dressed in white gowns, their faces stretched into disturbing smiles.

How had they gotten here before us?

The girl on the left waved, and I found myself waving back—perhaps out of fear of what they’d do if I didn’t.

They’re children. Harmless children.

The butler halted, guiding me into the room on the left. I stepped inside and turned to thank him, only to realize the door had vanished, replaced by solid wall.

Panic gripped my throat. I slammed my fists against where the door had been.

“That won’t work.” Two voices spoke in perfect unison behind me. I spun, swallowing the boulder in my throat, and found the twins perched atop the bed, feet dangling. Their pupils had swallowed their irises entirely, leaving only inky voids. Only then did I notice each wore different coloured bows in their pigtails—pink on the left, orange on the right.

“How did you get in?” How do I get out? Where is Lord Blackthorne?

“Papa says you’re to play with us,” said Orange, ignoring my question. “I say we play tag.”

At that, Pink began counting from ten as Orange yanked my wrist, pulling me through the door that had somehow reappeared. The hallway stretched endlessly, and I made the grave mistake of glancing at a painted portrait of what I assumed was Lady Blackthorne, her eyes following me as I ran past.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Pink screeched.

I glanced back, nearly tumbling down the stairs at the sight. Pink scuttled toward me on all fours, movements quick and jittery, like an arachnid. Orange had vanished.

I bolted down the stairs, taking two at a time and made for the front door, away from the child-spider-creature and its giggles chasing me.

Despite my best efforts of yanking at the handles, the door didn’t budge. Panic sunk its claws in me when an uneasy silence fell over the foyer.

My blood turned cold when a shadow moved above.

I willed my gaze up.

Oh God.

The girl clung to the ceiling, her spider-like form grinning down at me. I stumbled back at the sight of her scrawny limbs scurrying, descending the wall.

My feet pushed me across the foyer into a hallway, the rapid skittering behind me growing louder. Turning corners, breath burning against the cage of my ribs, I lost myself in the maze of corridors.

A man screamed somewhere in the distance.

Father?

Something struck the back of my head. The floor rushed up to meet me. Another blow. Two sets of small feet were the last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me whole.

***

I awoke with a metallic taste coating my tongue, pain bloomed at the back of my head. When my vision cleared, the twins appeared at a dining table on either side of me—and Lord Blackthorne on the opposite end, pale as his daughters, same black hair.

“The girls said they had quite the ball today.” He raised a glass of what I assumed was red wine, though its consistency seemed thicker.

Aside from being knocked unconscious by the demon spawns, I had little idea how I’d entertained them. “Have I completed my end of the agreement?”

“Bargains are sealed with a meal. Only when fully consumed does the deal stand.”

Four cloches appeared.

“Papa, did Cook prepare Kings and Queens?” Orange asked.

“Certainly did, darling—” he turned to me. “Are you familiar with the game?”

I shook my head.

“Whoever finds the boon in their pie is king or queen for the day,” Pink explained. They dug in immediately, tearing their pies apart like battlefield wreckage.

A pang of guilt prickled the back of my neck thinking of Father sitting out in the cold when I carefully cut into the pie. Brown gravy oozed out, the scent of stew and herbs had my mouth watering, flavours exploded in my mouth at the first bite, and I moaned softly. The chunks of meat more succulent than anything I’d ever eaten, the sauce rich and thick. “May I ask what kind of meat this is? It’s exquisite.”

“Family secret,” Lord Blackthorne said smoothly. “I must warn you,” he continued, his tone shifting. “If you expel your dinner on my floors, our agreement will not stand.”

Expel? Why would I—

I stifled a nervous laugh, puzzled by his words. Before I could reply, his attention had already returned to the twins, now arguing over who would be queen. Terrifying as the day had been, it had been a long while since I’d eaten so well and the feeling of a full belly was a welcome one. I lifted my fork for the final bite.

Something cracked against my molars.

I froze. Then realized.

The boon.

Heads snapped toward me. “‘S not fair!” one twin wailed in defeat.

Childish as it was, pride flickered in my chest at winning their silly game. Holding it between two fingers, I suckled at the ring-like object, licking it free from any sauce. Then I held it out, as if it were a trophy. Its silver surface gleaming in the flickering light.

Silver.

I blinked, suddenly recognizing the all-too-familiar wedding band.

Time slowed. Blood drained from my face as my mind connected the dots.

Father's odd behaviour...the screams...

The lord's sinister grin across the table only confirmed the horror of the pie's contents.

Oh no.

No no no.

Nausea surged.

I gagged, clamping a hand over my mouth as the sour taste of regurgitated pie filled it. My body convulsed, lips sealed tight.

I shuddered.

Lord Blackthorne laughed.

The promise of my mother’s cure was the only thing that had me swallowing down with a big gulp.

***

The ride home was a blur.

Seat beside me empty, my only company that of the rotten beast pulling the carriage. Up in the distance my now healthy-looking mother stood, waving excitedly.

Gagging, I tucked away my father's wedding ring and waved back.