by DavidJThirteen

Austen didn't feel his feet move toward the door. It was hard to focus on anything other than the carvings covering the portal. There was something hypnotic about the way the crystal prisms of the chandeliers cast glittering waves of color across the strange figures etched into relief on the wood.

Staring at it, Austen felt himself falling. The images had no end—carvings were inside of carvings. What at first appeared to be an elephant topped by a war tower turned into a forest as he neared, only for the trees to separate into a mob of people after a few more steps. The moon in the top corner of the portal was filled with monkeys, who in turn were filled with cities. Knights became rabbits and the masts of sailing ships turned into gallows with hanging men.

By the time he reached for the golden knob, Austen wasn't sure if he was grabbing it or it was grabbing him. Cold metal fingers seemed to encircle his hand and press the bones tightly together.

"Don't..." Tiffany said but it was no louder than a whisper and it was too late.

The door swung open with ease and a yawning blackness rushed in like strong wind. The lights extinguished behind them as though they had been nothing but a weak, exposed flame. Plunged into darkness, Austen's eyes slowly made out a set of stairs in front of them.

They seemed to glow a faint blue but an outstretched hand proved that they were actually being illuminated by a thin light from above. They curled upward and disappeared in the black gloom of the ceiling.

To the left of the stairs, a hallway was only detectable by a dank odor carried on a faint breeze and the echoing jangle of metal on metal off in the distance.

"Do you hear that," he said to Tiff in hushed voice. "I think that's Cigarro's collar." Austen cleared the dryness from his throat and called, "Cigarro. Here boy. Here boy."

"Shut up. Are you crazy? You don't know it's him. How could he get past that door?"

"I don't know. But I have to check it out."

"Well, I'm not going into that dark hole. I'm going to see where those stairs lead. With any luck it's out of here."

"So you're serious about splitting up in this place?"

"You can come with me if you want." Tiff said it as though she was being generous letting him follow her. "But I'm heading toward the light." A soft squeal escaped her as she recognized the familiar phrase she had just spoken. "I mean, I'm going to go where there is some light."

"Okay," Austen said grudgingly. "Try and get out of here and get help. I'm going to keep looking for Rhea."

"Be careful." Tiffany put her hand on his shoulder and hesitated. For a brief second, Austen thought she might embrace him or even kiss him. But Tiff just gave him an encouraging pat and began to ascend the stairs that wound upward into the unknown.

Had he really thought they were about to have a moment? Him and Tiffany? Meeting Dracula in this abandoned hotel was more likely. My mind is playing tricks on me down here, he thought. First there had been the ghostly robed figure, then the way the images on the door had swirled and changed, and now the sudden alien emotions for Tiff. It put a fearful doubt in his mind. Could he trust what he saw or heard, or even felt down here?

Maybe Tiffany was right. Maybe getting out and calling the police should be his priority.

But the tinkling came again and this time he was certain it was the tags on the collar clattering together. The sound was too familiar to be wrong about. Austen called for the dog again and made his way after him, feeling his way along with one hand against the wall.

The surface was an unpleasant damp plaster. It felt soft as though he could rake out troughs in it with his fingers. But when he tried, it held solid. The jangle was soon replaced with a more constant sound of the wind and the plaster was replaced by rough stone. Now and then, rivulets of water passed down ancient channels in the rock. His hand felt like ice by the time a light began to grow in the tunnel and he was able to see again. Even if all he could make out was the pale whiteness of his tennis shoes in front of him.

The wind and light were like pieces of a puzzle falling into place: the tunnel was leading outside. The dampness and chill of the air was reminiscent of standing out on the bluffs. He didn't do it much anymore but when he was younger, he'd go for walks with his dad out on the wild crag.

"Never come here yourself," his dad had told him. "It's not safe."

Dread pushed up the beating of his heart. He hoped Cigarro would be okay if this led out to those dangerous cliffs. And he prayed Rhea hadn't gone near the edge, where sand could give way and rocks could slide down into the lake below. The thought almost made the ghosts and zombies he had imagined in the basement welcome figures. What were they compared to a deadly fall into those cold, black waters?

Austen emerged from a cave entrance. A narrow shelf fell away to emptiness. The water roiled beneath him crashing against rocks at least a hundred feet below. Up above, a gibbous moon hung like horns in a clear sky.

They must have been in the hotel's basement longer than he thought.

And hadn't the moon been nearly full? Austen thought it had, but maybe he was getting mixed up. It wasn't like he paid a whole lot of attention to those things.

The abyss in front of him seemed to create a vortex of gravity. It wanted to drag him down and over. Austen was certain a moment of inattention would be all that was needed to be pulled over the side.

He yelled, "Cigarro. Cigarro," but his voice was swallowed by the wind.

The shelf of rock rose in a slight incline and he followed it up. Up was hopeful. If Ciggaro was okay, he would have gone up this path.

Austen scrambled, more on his hands and knees than his feet, clinging to stones and strands of dead grass to keep from falling. With immense relief he threw his body onto the long wild grass at the top. It was good to be on ground again and get away from the dizzying cliff.

In the distance, he saw the garden filled with statues. Lights moved between the stones. Had Tiffany already gotten help?

Austen took off at a run, yelling and waving his arms to get their attention.

The statues were one of the strangest parts of Cliff Castle Park. An owner of the property had transported them here ages ago. They were placed haphazardly across what was once a lawn. The white figures gave the area an eerie otherworldly quality and the children in the area came up with strange stories about them that only grew in morbid sophistication as they grew older. When Austen was ten, they'd play hide-and-seek and tag here and talk about how they were all people turned to stone by a witch. Nowadays, the kids in his class came here with illegally obtained beer or a bottle of wine stolen from a parent's liquor cabinet and tell stories about how the statues came to life led people to the cliffs and their deaths.

Not that Austen got invited to those parties. That was more Tiff's thing.

And maybe they weren't a police rescue team. Maybe they were just a group of teenagers. It was hard to tell who they were. Perhaps the pitch darkness of the tunnel had made his eyes overly sensitive to the light and instead of illuminating his surroundings, they dazzled his senses.

As he rushed toward the rescuers, he couldn't discern person from statue. They surrounded him and spun and swirled around him making him lightheaded.

He should have eaten more today. He must have missed dinner. Austen hoped he wouldn't faint.

"There you are," someone said. "It's about time," another voice said. "This way. Quickly."

"We have to find Rhea," Austen said.

"She's over here. We'll take you."

Even now with them right beside him, the men were nothing more than smoke and shadow. Hands wrapped a blanket around him and he was grateful for the warmth. He must be in bad shape. Cold and hungry, and his eyes didn't want to work. He had heard about people being in shock. Was this what it was like?

They led him toward the roman pillars of the giant gateway that led to nowhere. Who in town didn't have a selfie of themselves amid the semicircle of marble columns? If it wasn't in some forsaken vine choked patch next to the dilapidated hotel, it would have seemed grand—something from ruins in Athens or an archeologic site in Italy.

There were more people standing around in front of the odd structure. Why did the police send so many men? Where did they get so many? The town's force couldn't have had more than a couple dozen officers.

Austen was jostled toward them. He blinked rapidly. It didn't make any sense to him.

Then he saw his sister. She sat off to the side in a large stone chair. It rose up regally like a thrown. On her brow was a crown that reminded him of the thin, horned moon in the sky.

"Rhea!" He tried to run to her but hands on his chest held him back.

They weren't actually grabbing him but pinning a flower to him, and when they pulled away, Austen was too stunned to go to Rhea. He wasn't wrapped in a blanket as he thought but a dusty black cloak with ribbon tie. A limp, dead lily drooped on his chest and stank of a graveyard.

"Why?" was the only word he could force out of his mouth.

"Have to look good for your wedding?"

Wedding?

And then the crowd came into focus. Empty eye sockets looked back at him. Rotting corpses in tattered finery filled the semicircle. Two separate groups stood on either side with an aisle down the middle. At the end of the aisle, Tiffany stood in a mothy dress. The wind played at the tattered hem of the yellowed lace. She didn't need to speak. The pleading expression in her eyes said everything. 

"Help me," they implored.