The Din--Chapter 1

The Din--Chapter 1

Nothing ever happened in the Wilkes Manse. Day in, day out, everything went the same way.

Wake up.

Dress. Cease breathing at this point; it becomes an unnecessary and impossible function.

Eat. Eat very little.

Chat politely with sister for a moment.

Go knit.

Talk to Jack. Laugh at the silly Wynne.

Eat again. Eat very little again.

Sleep. Dreams were simply unladylike, so forget about those.

Every day, the same. Every day the same for seventeen years.

The only part she truly enjoyed was fencing. Fencing was where she really shone. At first, her mother called it unladylike, just like the dreaming, but after persistent begging, she had finally given in. After she'd shown improvement in all other studies, as well as seeming a little more cheery, she finally condoned it.

She woke up. She looked across the room at her desk, where the ink and paper lay waiting for her touch. She sighed and stood, wondering where the maid was. There was no way she could get into the party dress without help.

For every weekend, there was a grand party with her widowed mother as the hostess. Young men from all over Ritannia came to try their hand at charming their way into the Wilkes fortune, but what they failed to see was that Madame Wilkes, who was Wynnish herself, was not interested in taking another husband. Young lovers for the night, yes, but not a one had a chance at ever gaining any entrance to the massive vault that held the wealth that had amassed long before her time.

Her name was Annabeth Wilkes.

She slipped out of the room before the maid could find her, still in her unders. She wanted to see something.

There was a sound.

She made her way to the basement. Down the hall, minding the thick, vermilion carpet and its many golden swirls (she didn't want to leave footprints, you see), left, down the half-spiral staircase, through the hidden door to the kitchen over on the right, out into the similarly hidden hallway, and to the trapdoor.

However, she was not so lucky this morning, as on her way toward the kitchen, her younger sister, Elizabelle, happened to be testing some of the dishes for the night.

“Annabeth, what are you doing out in your underwear?” she asked, more curious than judgmental. Elizabelle was of the more voluptuous sort, pleasantly chubby and always cheery. She and her sister had a better relationship than that of most, and looked out for one another, especially after they'd been left (almost) alone with their mother. She was a frightful woman, of terrible temperament and sinister wiles, prim to the bone and strict as any natural-born Ritannian.

“Oh, Liza, hello, I, er--”

“She was just off to the basement again,” came a voice. Jack, Annabeth's closest friend and confidante, walked by with a silver platter in hand, several small cocktails resting on top. “Weren't you, Wil?”

“Oh, hush, Jack!”

“Annabeth, you know how Mother feels about your trips. And she only knew of the one!”

“And it will stay that way!” Annabeth, who really preferred the name Wil, hissed, stomping her foot. “It's like I've been telling you all, there is something down there!”

“Yes, meats, cheeses, spare furniture, and bad memories,” Jack said sternly. “This isn't healthy. You'll kill yourself like this.”

“I will be fine, Jack, no thanks to you. I'll kill myself if I don't figure out what's down there!” she said desperately. “Just let me through, I'll be right back--”

“We know you miss him more than anyone,” Eliza said gently, taking her sister's arms and smiling. “But Annabeth—”

“You know I like the name Wil just fine.”

“Ann--Wil. Please, listen to reason. We're only worried for your safety.”

“You mean my sanity,” Wil said bitterly. “Fine. I'll go and put clothes on, for heaven's sake.” She tromped off, feeling surly and discontented. The sound from the basement was something that tormented her almost relentlessly. It was ever-present, but was louder and bothered her more on the nights of the parties. It was something of a whisper, a sound that rang calmly beneath the din, and no matter how she tried to resist, it always seemed to reel her in. Like the tide, she was always pulled back to that place.

Nine years before, while enjoying yet another uneventful dinner, their father, Lord Wilkes, had gone to retrieve some extra meats. His wife protested. She felt that it was the servants' work, that the lord and master should not have to perform such menial tasks. Being a generous and kind man, much more so than his spouse, he only smiled and went anyway. Besides, the maid was nearly eight months pregnant. She had no business going down all those stairs.

He was never seen again.

Wil recalled that day most vividly. Of all her family, she'd had the closest relationship with her father. He'd been the one to allow the fencing classes, he'd been the one who sneaked her flowers and other odds and ends from outside the house. Never, in all her years, had she once stepped outside the manor. Well, a few times, she'd been out on the balcony for a few minutes, but aside from that, her experience was limited to the walls of the Wilkes Manse, in all its repetitive glory.

Wil came down from her room a mere hour later, fully dressed at last. Her collar was high and itched, her bodice was laced so tight she couldn't fully inhale, and worst of all, she had to go entertain guests like this. The life of the Ritannian gentry was truly a wonder.

“Must I really attend this silly thing?” she whined to Eliza as she approached. “You can’t tell me you enjoy this sort of thing.”

“I don’t know,” her sister mused with a smile, “boys fawning over me suits me rather well, don’t you think?”

Wil rolled her eyes and kissed Eliza’s cheek. “You’re too much like Mother.”

“Get a move on, ladies, don’t want to keep the boys waiting!” Jack shouted as he exited the kitchen, a devilish smile on his face.

Wil smiled and patted his head. “Oh, darling, you know you’re the only boy for me. Besides, boys never seem to stay interested once they know I’m an accomplished fencer.”

“They fear for their lives, as well as their genitals,” he replied, evoking gasps and giggles from the Wilkes sisters. Wil playfully slapped his arm and shook her head, though she wished she hadn’t. Her collar was ludicrously itchy.

“Ah, well, off to the party now, darlings. Come, Liza, you know how Mother frowns on lateness.”

The younger of the two frowned in a pouty manner. “Oh, it’s not even noon yet.”

Wil shrugged and simply said, “You know Mother.”

They walked into the ballroom, waving goodbye to Jack, and approached the matriarch on her ornate throne.

The ballroom itself was one of the most impressive places in the house, easily as tall as a hundred men stacked on top each other and many times as wide. Despite their enormity in comparison to the lower classes homes, any house in the upper ring could barely fill the ballroom of the Wilkes’ home. The floor was marble of great purity, polished so smoothly that Wil could see her reflection struggling to breathe in it. There were intricate black swirls throughout the cream floor, all coming together at the center, where the family crest was engraved. As a child, she remembered following one sprial for days before finally reaching the center, and by then, her mother had feared the girl had gone cross-eyed. Not an attractive trait for a young lady, she said. Just like the fencing. No man would ever take her for a wife like that. Of course, marrying off her children was but one of the things on Madame Wilkes' mind.

"Ah, girls, glad to see you early for once. Anya, darlingk, tell me--will you be joining us tonight?"

Wil sighed. It didn't matter that she was half-Wynne herself. They spoke so strangely. "Yes, Mother. I shall attempt to hide my disdain for the sorts of fellows these parties bring as best I can tonight, should it please you." Angering her was not an intelligent option.

The madame smiled and crossed her legs primly. "Goot. And you, my dear Liza?"

Eliza smile and curtsied. "Of course, Mother. You know I enjoy such reveling."

Madame Wilkes pursed her big red lips and turned her face from her children. "Goot to know SOMEONE does. Now, be dears and tell the chef to begin bringingk the dishes for testingk. I vill not servf somethingk I haff not tasted myself."

The girls nodded and walked away. Once out of the large room, where their conversation might echo, Wil said, "Then the guests may not eat much. She's so demanding."

Eliza nodded, preferring not to actually speak ill of their mother in the case that she could hear them. She seemed to crop up whenever they least expected it.

After many hours testing perfectly wonderful dishes and their mother sending them away (this was too hot, that too spicy, this too crunchy, that too flavorful), it was finally time for the event. Guests began arriving, each name announced crisply by Jack's older brother as they entered. A few lads soon found Wil, deciding to engage her in largely one-sided discussions of snobbery and hunting.

By the fourth so-called gentleman, Wil wanted to die. What point was there to living when all that seemed to await her was a life of listening to stuffy men regale her with tales of shooting innocent animals for sport?

She smiled politely as a lull in the conversation presented a way out. "Would you be perfectly lovely and retrieve some punch while I powder my nose?" she asked. She walked away, sighing quietly.

The young man looked around, slightly confused. There was no punch.

In the meantime, Wil stole through the kitchen, trying to avoid Jack's watchful eye. He was good at telling her what to do, it seemed.

She gathered her skirts, the long ribbons and bows dragging along in the flour on the floor. After almost tripping, she frowned and ducked behind one of the counters. There, she unbuttoned her collar and readjusted her bodice, thinking she was safe.

“Get back to that party!” a voice hissed abruptly from above. She turned to see Jack standing above her, hand on his hip. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and fancy white slacks for the party, but his messy crop of dusty sienna hair was untidy as ever.

“I can’t, Jack. One more word from that silly sod—”

“If your mother heard you use such language—”

“I don’t care!” She stood and grabbed his hand, pulling him along. “Here, you can even come with me.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” he pulled his hand away, backing off a few feet. “Woman, you’ve gone mental, I swear. You’ve asked me before, remember?”

Wil sighed. “Come with me and I’ll prove I’m not.”

Jack put his arm around her shoulder. “Listen, you’ve told me before, you never find anything. Ever. What would make this time different?”

It was true. In the nine years since the disappearance, ever since the whispers started, she’d been checking the basement periodically, hoping each time that she’d find some mystical, wonderful thing there. Every time, she was disappointed, but it never seemed to dissuade her. She felt this was it, though. She thought she’d finally find something.

“Well, come along or not, I’m going. You may be my best friend, but when it comes down to it, you can’t really go ordering me around, can you?”

Jack frowned. “Fine, I’m comin’.”

On the way, he thought he’d have a bit of fun. “You looked like you were really enjoying that conversation there, Wil. What was he on about?”

Wil groaned. “Duke Charlagne of Brimbury. Possibly the dullest man I’ve ever met. Kept chatting about how he gutted a deer one day, shot a pig the next. Any smart chap would realize I’m not one for hunting, or at least ask a lady her thoughts on the sport before speaking on it at length.” She shook her head and hoisted her skirts up. “Here we are. The basement.”

“Whadda you think’ll be down there, Wil? You’re hangin’ on to your dad, I get that, but—”

“This has nothing to do with my father.” She reached down and opened the trap door. “I’ll assume it’s ‘ladies first’, as always?”

Jack, for all his talk, was a complete coward. He huddled behind Wil, ducking so he couldn’t be seen. “You know what a gentleman I am.”

She descended the stairs without fear. Something in her just didn’t allow for fear. Though more imaginative than her peers, she was excellent at keeping a level head.

She looked into the dark. As every time before, it was silent now. She took a breath. She reached out. Her fingers found the chain.

She pulled the switch.

It only took her a few moments to realize that the lights did not come on.

“Wha-?” She pulled it again with the same results. She yanked it a few more times, but the room remained dark.

Feeling he was out of danger, Jack sighed and stood up. “Come on, Wil, we’ve got to get back. Your mother will ‘ave me ‘ead if I don’t serve her hors d'oeuvres.” He kissed her cheek and walked back out to rejoin the other servants.

Wil sat on the step, frozen by disbelief. How could she be wrong? She’d been so sure. Today felt like the day she’d finally find something. It felt like the day things might finally change. She sighed and rested her head on her knees.

It was then that the shadows started talking.

She’d been so wrapped up in her unraveling thoughts she hadn’t quite heard it at first. The sound started off as a small whine, slowly growing into a yowl of pain so loud it might shatter glass.

It turned into words, barely discernable as speech. “Agh, burns, it burns!” The voice was high and squeaky, and for some reason reminded her of burning rubber over shards of glass digging into the face of a dying cat, which happened to be clawing the hell out of some poor pedestrian (who, in turn, happened to be a leper).

The lights then flashed on, but there appeared to be gaps where umbra lay, though nothing seemed to cast them. They came in various sizes, stretching and bending before her eyes, yet remaining still somehow. Her eyes widened to take the multitude in, some tall, some short, some thin, some wide, some human, some not, but all shadows just the same. A small one danced around on the floor, clutching its hands and whimpering before another. A larger one (and by larger, we mean it was only large in comparison to the other shade people) stood at the front; it appeared more human than the rest, draped in a long black cloak that kept the upper half of its face in shadow. What showed of its skin was white—not just pale, but white, like the fine silks of Wil’s dress, like alabaster or porcelain. Only its eyes glowed out from under the dark created by its hood. It smiled.

“Took you long enough, now, dinnit?”