The news split the town in twain. No matter one's opinion, the news was on the tip of every tongue, an undercurrent to every conversation. The town had become charged and vibrant; imbued with either a sense excitement or dread. Some of the townspeople even claimed it heralded the beginning of the apocalypse.
The Grand, the local mystery and source of malignant fear, printed a notice in the local newspaper. Within, people learned how the hotel would open their doors to the public for one night only, to celebrate the upcoming black moon.
Billed as a grand ball, people were invited to indulge in food, drink and dance. Most of the younger folk were curious and wanted to attend, but that meant risking the wrath of their parents.
Lillian wanted nothing more than to revisit the Grand and set her eyes on the spectacular settings within. Images of the lavish settings were etched in her mind; vivid as the day she first laid eyes upon them. Years ago those scenes had sowed the seeds of creativity and conjured up dreams of her being a princess.
Of course, those who lived within the town's limits (for the most part) were rarely guests of the hotel. They catered to a select clientele which was reflected in their nightly rate.
To open their doors to the public was out of character for this establishment. While black moons were rare, this invitation made such an occasion doubly so!
For those like Lillian, the most they saw of the Grand was the glow of its lights illuminating the valley floor. To many, these lights served as a haunting reminder of what lurked in the shadows.
Lillian waved away such thoughts while looking over her room. It was sparsely decorated one-room affair with a hot plate that served as the kitchen. It suited her needs well enough, allowing her to save up enough to move away, since this town did little to encourage her dreams of being a flapper. For that she needed to reach the city.
A flapper, now that was something to strive for and she envied anyone who lived the lifestyle. The freedom to pursue her own path while evading the golden rules her mother had preached.
Lillian was not one to hang onto the words of a man. People tended to see her as a bit of a flat tyre, but Lillian believed that such behaviour only served to build up the walls of her cell. What was life without joy? Could she be happy knowing that her station in life had been chosen based on societal norms?
For now she had to settle for a night at the Grand. Would she find adventure, fame and fortune? A shame that such hopes and aspirations were the product of the silver screen productions or worse pulp fiction.
* * * *
Lillian soon discovered that this event had not been confined to a ballroom or wing. Everywhere she turned the parties roared. The Grand's differing venues gave this event a worldly atmosphere. Some places conjured up memories of her local pub while others were better suited for royalty.
As she migrated from party to party, Lillian realised how little she knew of the world. At one party the men and women seemed to be her age, but the music had little resemblance to that played on the radio. It was dark, sombre and incorporated a tribal beat. The movements of those who danced were feral and their chants were predatory. Lillian likened them to a pack of wolves feasting upon a fresh kill. Sufficed to say, she did not linger there for long.
Lillian ended up at a clip-joint, listening to this evening's entertainment. She loved this room for its art déco style and jazz music suitable for dancing.
The music and the hoofers were lively. Cigarette girls circled around the crowd, selling their wares, waiters busily moved among the tables and booths. All in all, this was what she imagined big cities to have. In fact, she could...
"Care to dance," a man asked.
Lillian was taken aback at the abruptness of it all. She turned to see who spoke, her eyes scanning over the scene. To her left there was a tall and well-dressed man who sported a waxed moustache and dark hair.
Lillian noticed the man was facing some blonde who had it. The blonde however, did not even acknowledge his existence!
"How rude" Lillian exclaimed.
The gentleman, stood there patiently, like an orphan waiting for his ration of porridge. Fat chance! This was probably the blonde's way of dealing with a mustard plaster, albeit an apparently ineffective one.
Patience could only stretch out so far and once his waned the man looked about and caught sight of Lillian. When their eyes met, his smile grew exponentially which left her unexpectedly flustered.
"Well good evening," he said before a pause. "I'm Jack," he added, while the words simply glided off his silver tongue.
In that moment her heart skipped a beat. What? How did he have such an effect on her? It was not like she had lived in a nunnery or been isolated from the opposite sex all her life.
She knew people who were airtight and never lost it like this. Did he cast a spell on her? How did his charm seem to ooze out of his every pore?
"Lillian," she replied while her mind sought a root cause.
"Beautiful name for a beautiful lady," Jack said.
A line so common that it was in every drugstore cowboy's playbook. Instead of a loud guffaw followed by the sound of her walking away, Lillian held her breath as though Shakespeare himself had recited his finest sonnet.
A tiny voice in her mind urged her to run. Not walk away while keeping her head up high, but bolt from this hotel and never come back. So why were her instincts telling her otherwise?
"Oh, I am sure you say that to all the girls," Lillian said while giggling.
Odd, the blonde was giving her such a peculiar look. Before she could react, the sound of a drink sliding down the bar jolted her temporarily from her fixation. Lillian noticed the bartender had a stern look painted on his face. She could have sworn he was warning Jack to expect a bum's rush.
"How odd," Lillian said.
When Lillian looked towards Jack, she noticed his seat was empty. Her eyes darted about the party in search of him, but found no signs of the man with a waxed moustache.
Her heart sank while that tiny voice retreated from whence it came. Lillian finished her drink in nice long gulps, so the amber liquid burned while it travelled towards her gullet. Odd how it provided her with a sense of comfort.
* * * *
The evening air had changed to a cool pre-dawn wind by the time Lillian left the Grand. The evening had been for the lack of a better word grand. She was content, regardless of Jack's whereabouts, because her eyes had been opened and her heart was filled with a desire to explore that great big world out there!
"I am sorry Lillian," Jack said from behind while she was walking towards a waiting bus. "Cecil and I have a history," Jack said before adding, "It would have turned ugly had I stayed."
Lillian turned to find that mesmerising smile and waxed moustache. The world faded away, leaving only his image to focus on.
A part of Lillian's mind was desperate to tell him the bank was closed. Yet she could not resist his advances, she desired to neck and might even be up for a bit of barneymugging. Why? Jack took her hand, and she followed.
Cecil looked over the scene from a distance, but a quick glance at the sky told him that daybreak was would soon be upon them.
"Damn," he said just as the sun forced him to turn away.
* * * *
Lillian woke up and found herself in bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets. She took a deep breath and sighed contentedly as memories from last night's party rushed back into her mind. The excitement and energy gave her enough vigour to leap out of the bed.
Once on her feet, her body hesitated as though her mind and body were estranged. Vertigo overtook her, Lillian grabbed a hold of the nightstand until her sense of balance was regained.
Once she felt better, Lillian ventured towards the water closet. At first she was numb, unable to feel the tips of her fingers, like her body had been asleep for days or even weeks.
The first thing she felt was her growling stomach and soon became aware that she was parched. Lillian however was unprepared when every single muscle in her body screamed out in pain as though they were on the edge of exhaustion.
When electric light flooded the room, her mind linked these sensations to the cause. Had she not been staring in a mirror, Lillian would have never recognised the person reflected back? Her face was gaunt, devoid of a healthy glow, her eyes bulged out while her lips were cracked and bleeding.
When she looked down, Lillian realised this horror was not restricted to her face. Her stomach was round and oversized while her breasts had contracted by several sizes. Every rib protruded from her skin while veins bulged from her leathery hide. What was going on? How could this happen in such a brief time?
During all this confusion her last remaining sense returned, one powerful enough to force her to her knees. The putrid odours made Lillian wretch in pain and brought forth bile from her empty stomach.
During a lull, Lillian saw Jack's reflection flickering in and out. She saw this man smile at her with that alluring smile.
"You were great baby, but you're old game now," the reflection said nonchalantly before he faded out.
The last thing that remained from the reflection was the vestige of his haunting smile. His words somehow shattered the barriers in her mind and brought forth memories from the past week. At first they reminded her of a dream, the blissful lovemaking fuelled by endless desire.
Alas, all journeys had an end, and every moment spent in that bed brought her closer to death. Lillian could think of nothing else while in the throes of passion, not for sleep, nourishment, water or to use the loo. Everything was ignored so Jack could feast upon her passions.
Lillian looked over the room, seeing the mess of shit and sweat that covered the bed. Her body wretched in response but there was nothing left to bring up. The pain was unbearable, so much so that she cried, shedding dry tears because she was too dehydrated.
Just as she hoped the pain would end, she saw him again. He looked at her through the mirror with disgust and once he vanished every glass surface in the room shattered along with her heart. Lillian collapsed, dead before she hit the floor.
* * * *
John was heading towards his study with notebook in hand when he heard something fall onto the ground. Curious, the barrister turned around to find a picture that had worked its way out from the rest of the pages. He reached down, picked up the photograph then headed to his study to get a better look.
This was an old and faded image, with cracks and creases created over years of handling. Unfortunately the shot had none of the hallmarks of a family photograph. Featured on the shot was the scene from some party. Based on the fashion, it was taken near the end of the Roaring Twenties.
The picture was centred on two women at a bar. Both had their backs turned from the photographer and may not have even been aware of his presence. In the distance, John made out a somewhat foreboding face on the bartender. Why?
What was most peculiar to this shot was the shadowy spectre located between the rather beautiful blonde and a flapper in the foreground. At first he dismissed it as being a trick of the eye due to lighting or faulty development. Yet it was eerie how the bartender appeared to be staring right at this apparition. Did this explain his disdain?
By looking at the image John assumed this was a low-light picture taken without a flash. Chances were the exposure had been long and someone had moved during exposure. So why were there no blurred faces or hands anywhere else in the shot?
John shrugged, with nothing else to go on, he opened the journal to the page he was on. For now it would serve him well as a bookmark.