The Shadow Sisters

[E1] Chapter 31 - Elizabeth Cole

Elizabeth observed Robert as he strummed quickly and expertly on his electric guitar. The whole time he was beaming, lost in his love of performing, as his fingers blurred across the frets at a speed she was scarcely capable of comprehending.

As the song built up tension, climbing towards an inevitable crescendo, something was happening to the overhead lights.

They shone brighter and brighter until the light was so fierce that it became painful. Elizabeth had to shield her face and even then, she could barely keep her eyes open.

A freckled woman in front of her glanced back. "Are you alright there?"

"I'm fine," Elizabeth said, almost panting. "The light show is just a little bit too much for me."

The woman screwed up her face, as if realising she was talking to someone mentally unhinged. "What light show?"

Was she joking? Elizabeth dared a peak between her fingers towards the stage. The light, which had grown brighter than ever before, began pulsating.

It was beating like a heart, until it exploded, melting all within its wake.

Elizabeth covered her eyes again and counted to forty, as she'd done so on many occasions when she was a little girl, when her father would descend into one of his dark moods and the panic would set in.

When she finally drew her hands away, what she saw before her caused a confused rasp to exit her throat.

The stage and all the members of the Manic Hares had vanished into thin air. Now the bar was completely flat from one wall to the next, instead of all those steps and different levels of elevation. The beams and buttresses were still in place, but rather than being that smooth varnished dark brown, they were now crooked, gnarled, and pale. The transformation of the ground was much the same. The smooth hardwood under her feet was replaced by shoddy old planks with big gaps between them.

The overhead lights were gone too. In fact, all the lights were gone. In place of bulbs had appeared a few lamps, hanging in corners. Dozens and dozens of candles rested on bar tops and tables, and were set within small nooks all over the walls.

What was happening? Had Elizabeth somehow blacked out and ended up in another place? Was she hallucinating? Dreaming?

Even with hundreds of tiny orange stars lining the walls, it was difficult to see clearly. The patrons within the bar were only visible as shifting shadows.

"Where am I?" Elizabeth demanded.

But nobody responded.

After approaching the nearest group, their visages were illuminated by the scant candelight. Elizabeth identified them as a gathering of whispering women, all dressed up in corsets, bodices, and puffy dresses. Their hair styles were even more impressive, tied into elaborate knots and weaves that must've taken hours to assemble.

Goodness, but they'd gone to great effort to seem so realistic.

"I know," one of them said in an old-timey accent that showed remarkable commitment to the bit. "Poor Julia. She was such a tender, lovely thing."

"It's terrible, just terrible what's gone on in Willow," said another in a similar accent. They were all playing their parts dutifully. Very method.

The woman with the tallest, most elaborate hair of all placed a hand on her chest. "I empathise with the girl's family, I truly do, but that doesn't change the fact that a young woman shouldn't be walking the streets alone at night, especially with all that's gone on these past number of weeks."

"Honestly, Mary, you shouldn't say such things. You really shouldn't."

They dispersed before Elizabeth could question them.