By Stephanie O’Hanlon
The candlelight threw horrifying shadows across the room. They twisted and contorted ghoulishly, as if they were jumping to life, ready to devour all illumination in sight.
Quinn sat hunched at his piano, looking to the keys in front of him. He paid no mind to the hellish figures that seemed to swarm around him. All he could think of was Emilia.
She had been gone for nearly twenty-four hours now. Stolen away in broad daylight while playing at her own piano. Her maid had only left the room for a moment, a note arriving, the bell rung impatiently. It was obvious that it was a ruse to get poor, sweet Emilia alone.
Quinn rubbed his fingers together, the sound filling the room. His eyes danced around, his thoughts spinning dizzily. Surely the police could do more, more men, more people to search the city.
All they could say to comfort him? “Go about your normal business.”
But Quinn knew there was more to this. Emilia was an unfortunate victim, unfortunate, but not the intended victim of the plot.
He smiled lightly as he remembered the first time he saw Emilia. That radiant head of beautiful blonde curls, a smile in her pretty blue eyes that seemed to cause him more pain than any comfort at this present moment. After all, if it wasn’t for Quinn, Emilia would not have been at that piano. She would have been safe. Now she was in the hands of a madman.
Quinn suddenly stood up, pacing. All the time he spent with Emilia, all their lessons, each time falling more and more in love with her. There had to be more! There had to be something that he could do.
Suddenly, the bell rung. Quinn stopped, looking to the door. He stared for a moment, a ghastly shadow crossing it. Should I answer...?
He continued to stare at the wooden, barren door. He walked up to it slowly, nothing but silence echoing off the walls, his footsteps careful and quiet. He put his hand to the doorknob, not moving as he considered the danger of answering a call past eleven thirty at night. His heart was beating frantically, as he licked at his lips. He quickly threw the door open, nothing and no one standing before him.
He shook his head, frowning, his eyes coming to the ground just outside the door. A note. A piece of parchment folded up carefully sat before him, gleaming in the light, haunting his thoughts. He bent down, picking it up. He looked it over, turning it, examining it. He then opened it.
I expect you before midnight at the theatre. You do not attend this intimate interview, she dies.
Quinn felt a cold shiver of dread slither up his spine. By midnight, so little time! His poor Emilia!
At least she is alive! He thought. He had at least that much.
Quinn considered telling the police, but how much time would that eat away? How much time would slip through his fingers? Emilia could be dead before he even had a chance to get to the theatre. No, he had to do it, he had to do it alone.
As he walked the barren streets, making his way to the theatre, he kept a quickened pace. Emilia was all that was on his mind. He stopped before the old theatre, nothing but darkness shrouding the outside, not even a little light inside signally that someone was there. Surely more than ghosts roamed those empty corridors.
Quinn made his way inside, not even paying attention to the seats, approaching the stage, which had candles lit all over it. In the centre of the stage was a piano, the candles on it dripping to the floor.
He pulled out his pocket watch from his waistcoat, looking at those persistent hands, creeping towards quarter to midnight. He had fifteen minutes to converse with a madman and find Emilia.
Suddenly, a voice echoed throughout the theatre. “Ah, so you decided to grace us with your presence.” It was filled with a darkness, that madness that Quinn expected, yet it was completely horrifying on a level he did not expect.
Quinn kept silent, looking around, trying to place the voice in the theatre. He then took a deep breath before he spoke. “Where is she? Emilia, where is she?” He fought everything in him to scream out her name, hoping that she would answer.
“All in good time,” the voice responded, echoing off of the walls and swarming around him.
“What do you want?” Quinn asked.
“All in good time,” the voice responded once again.
Quinn felt his heart speed up, once again fighting the urge to scream out Emilia’s name.
“Did you appreciate my note?” The voice asked.
“Appreciate it?” Quinn asked, confused.
“I thought it a clever way to make sure you attended this meeting.”
“Emilia, is she hurt? What have you done with her?” Quinn asked, trying to keep control of his rage and anxiety.
“Is she all you care for?” The voice boomed throughout the theatre.
“What does Emilia have to do with this?”
“I told you, to insure that you attended this momentous of meetings,” the voice hissed.
“All you care for is speaking to me? Why?”
“An artist such as yourself should be appreciated.”
Quinn went silent.
“I thought it obvious that I was a fan of your work.”
“My work? I am but a teacher, nothing more.”
“I saw you perform last month. Your playing was beautiful.”
Quinn thought back to his little performance, though it was not held at the theatre. It was held at Emilia’s family home, her teacher showing his expertise for society.
“I did not perform here,” Quinn answered. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I thought it appropriate that you perform for me in a proper venue.” The voice seemed amused, hopeful.
“Perform?” Quinn asked, quickly taking his pocket watch out again, looking to the time. “You threatened to kill Emilia at midnight, how is there time for such foolishness?”
“This is my game!” The voice boomed once again. “You will play it as I dictate it.”
“Just, tell me if Emilia is here! I think that if you admire me as you say you do, you would give me that much. Please!”
There was a few moments silence before the voice hissed once again. “She is here.”
“And she is alive?” Quinn asked carefully.
“For now,” the voice said pleasantly, holding back a giggle. “She is shall we say, confined. But, I do not want her to take the stage just yet. I do not want her dead and buried just yet.”
Quinn quickly started to think of the thousand places that this voice could have put her. He knew that this voice was toying with him—it wanted him to suffer. She would have to be close to him, close enough to torment him when he found out that she was only mere feet away.
“Confined,” Quinn whispered. “Does this mean she is—”
“Enough about her!” The voice boomed once again.
“I will not do anything you say unless I know she is safe,” Quinn said, building up his courage.
“She is running out of air as we speak! The more you talk, the less time she has!” The voice said quickly.
“Running out of air, confined,” Quinn said to himself. “Dead and buried, you have her in a coffin, a box, buried. Where! Where is she?”
“You will perform! Or she dies!”
Quinn stopped, nodding. “All right. All right.”
He sighed, looking to the stage, walking around to the steps to his right. He climbed them, walking onto the stage, looking to the piano in the centre. His eyes went to the floor, seeing the faint outline of a little door, a latch gleaming from the light of the candles.
He stopped. He stared at it before he looked around into the darkness beyond the stage. He then quickly ran up to it, getting down on his knees, pulling at the latch.
“NO!” The voice called out from the darkness.
It was too late. Quinn was already down in the little space below the stage, a wooden coffin sitting off to the right. He crawled over to it, looking the coffin over. “Emilia! Emilia, please answer me!”
Nothing came from the coffin, even as he started to bang on it. He saw the rusty nails around the sides. He looked around, seeing the hammer on the floor beside it, probably the one the voice had used. He grabbed it, slamming the hammer into it and splintering the wood, pulling at it frantically until he was able to see Emilia’s face through the hole. Her eyes were closed, her face looking peaceful, though dirt was on her perfect porcelain face.
“Emilia! God, Emilia! Answer me!” Quinn continued to rip at the wooden slats, pulling them off, finally getting a hole large enough to pull Emilia’s frail body out.
He held her in his arms, hugging her close.
“Oh, Emilia,” he looked down to her, stroking her torn, dirty hair out of her face.
She opened her eyes slowly. “Quinn?” she asked hoarsely.
He sighed in relief. “Emilia, I’m going to get you out of here. Stay awake, stay with me.”
He stood with her in his arms, climbing the step ladder carefully. He placed her down on the stage floor, getting up and onto the stage. He then got to his knees beside her, pulling her back into his arms.
“Quinn,” she whispered, her eyes drooping.
“Stay with me Emilia,” he said, holding her close. “I am going to get you out of here.”
Emilia’s eyes widened in horror as a black figure quickly ran out from the darkness, coming up behind Quinn. A blade shone from the candles, the darkness suddenly bursting alive, stretching out into shadows, swarming around both Quinn and Emilia.
There was silence, Emilia looking up to Quinn, her breathing picking up. “Quinn?”
His eyes were blank as he stared at her, a drop of something falling on her face. Another drop came, then another, until a large gush of crimson blood escaped from Quinn’s neck and poured onto Emilia.
A cold wind swept through the theatre, all the candles being blown out as a horrifying scream escaped the darkness, which began to slowly die off, leaving nothing but silence echoing off throughout the black.
The candlelight threw horrifying shadows across the room. They twisted and contorted ghoulishly, as if they were jumping to life, ready to devour all illumination in sight.
Quinn sat hunched at his piano, looking to the keys in front of him. He paid no mind to the hellish figures that seemed to swarm around him. All he could think of was Emilia.
She had been gone for nearly twenty-four hours now. Stolen away in broad daylight while playing at her own piano. Her maid had only left the room for a moment, a note arriving, the bell rung impatiently. It was obvious that it was a ruse to get poor, sweet Emilia alone.
Quinn rubbed his fingers together, the sound filling the room. His eyes danced around, his thoughts spinning dizzily. Surely the police could do more, more men, more people to search the city.
All they could say to comfort him? “Go about your normal business.”
But Quinn knew there was more to this. Emilia was an unfortunate victim, unfortunate, but not the intended victim of the plot.
He smiled lightly as he remembered the first time he saw Emilia. That radiant head of beautiful blonde curls, a smile in her pretty blue eyes that seemed to cause him more pain than any comfort at this present moment. After all, if it wasn’t for Quinn, Emilia would not have been at that piano. She would have been safe. Now she was in the hands of a madman.
Quinn suddenly stood up, pacing. All the time he spent with Emilia, all their lessons, each time falling more and more in love with her. There had to be more! There had to be something that he could do.
Suddenly, the bell rung. Quinn stopped, looking to the door. He stared for a moment, a ghastly shadow crossing it. Should I answer...?
He continued to stare at the wooden, barren door. He walked up to it slowly, nothing but silence echoing off the walls, his footsteps careful and quiet. He put his hand to the doorknob, not moving as he considered the danger of answering a call past eleven thirty at night. His heart was beating frantically, as he licked at his lips. He quickly threw the door open, nothing and no one standing before him.
He shook his head, frowning, his eyes coming to the ground just outside the door. A note. A piece of parchment folded up carefully sat before him, gleaming in the light, haunting his thoughts. He bent down, picking it up. He looked it over, turning it, examining it. He then opened it.
I expect you before midnight at the theatre. You do not attend this intimate interview, she dies.
Quinn felt a cold shiver of dread slither up his spine. By midnight, so little time! His poor Emilia!
At least she is alive! He thought. He had at least that much.
Quinn considered telling the police, but how much time would that eat away? How much time would slip through his fingers? Emilia could be dead before he even had a chance to get to the theatre. No, he had to do it, he had to do it alone.
As he walked the barren streets, making his way to the theatre, he kept a quickened pace. Emilia was all that was on his mind. He stopped before the old theatre, nothing but darkness shrouding the outside, not even a little light inside signally that someone was there. Surely more than ghosts roamed those empty corridors.
Quinn made his way inside, not even paying attention to the seats, approaching the stage, which had candles lit all over it. In the centre of the stage was a piano, the candles on it dripping to the floor.
He pulled out his pocket watch from his waistcoat, looking at those persistent hands, creeping towards quarter to midnight. He had fifteen minutes to converse with a madman and find Emilia.
Suddenly, a voice echoed throughout the theatre. “Ah, so you decided to grace us with your presence.” It was filled with a darkness, that madness that Quinn expected, yet it was completely horrifying on a level he did not expect.
Quinn kept silent, looking around, trying to place the voice in the theatre. He then took a deep breath before he spoke. “Where is she? Emilia, where is she?” He fought everything in him to scream out her name, hoping that she would answer.
“All in good time,” the voice responded, echoing off of the walls and swarming around him.
“What do you want?” Quinn asked.
“All in good time,” the voice responded once again.
Quinn felt his heart speed up, once again fighting the urge to scream out Emilia’s name.
“Did you appreciate my note?” The voice asked.
“Appreciate it?” Quinn asked, confused.
“I thought it a clever way to make sure you attended this meeting.”
“Emilia, is she hurt? What have you done with her?” Quinn asked, trying to keep control of his rage and anxiety.
“Is she all you care for?” The voice boomed throughout the theatre.
“What does Emilia have to do with this?”
“I told you, to insure that you attended this momentous of meetings,” the voice hissed.
“All you care for is speaking to me? Why?”
“An artist such as yourself should be appreciated.”
Quinn went silent.
“I thought it obvious that I was a fan of your work.”
“My work? I am but a teacher, nothing more.”
“I saw you perform last month. Your playing was beautiful.”
Quinn thought back to his little performance, though it was not held at the theatre. It was held at Emilia’s family home, her teacher showing his expertise for society.
“I did not perform here,” Quinn answered. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I thought it appropriate that you perform for me in a proper venue.” The voice seemed amused, hopeful.
“Perform?” Quinn asked, quickly taking his pocket watch out again, looking to the time. “You threatened to kill Emilia at midnight, how is there time for such foolishness?”
“This is my game!” The voice boomed once again. “You will play it as I dictate it.”
“Just, tell me if Emilia is here! I think that if you admire me as you say you do, you would give me that much. Please!”
There was a few moments silence before the voice hissed once again. “She is here.”
“And she is alive?” Quinn asked carefully.
“For now,” the voice said pleasantly, holding back a giggle. “She is shall we say, confined. But, I do not want her to take the stage just yet. I do not want her dead and buried just yet.”
Quinn quickly started to think of the thousand places that this voice could have put her. He knew that this voice was toying with him—it wanted him to suffer. She would have to be close to him, close enough to torment him when he found out that she was only mere feet away.
“Confined,” Quinn whispered. “Does this mean she is—”
“Enough about her!” The voice boomed once again.
“I will not do anything you say unless I know she is safe,” Quinn said, building up his courage.
“She is running out of air as we speak! The more you talk, the less time she has!” The voice said quickly.
“Running out of air, confined,” Quinn said to himself. “Dead and buried, you have her in a coffin, a box, buried. Where! Where is she?”
“You will perform! Or she dies!”
Quinn stopped, nodding. “All right. All right.”
He sighed, looking to the stage, walking around to the steps to his right. He climbed them, walking onto the stage, looking to the piano in the centre. His eyes went to the floor, seeing the faint outline of a little door, a latch gleaming from the light of the candles.
He stopped. He stared at it before he looked around into the darkness beyond the stage. He then quickly ran up to it, getting down on his knees, pulling at the latch.
“NO!” The voice called out from the darkness.
It was too late. Quinn was already down in the little space below the stage, a wooden coffin sitting off to the right. He crawled over to it, looking the coffin over. “Emilia! Emilia, please answer me!”
Nothing came from the coffin, even as he started to bang on it. He saw the rusty nails around the sides. He looked around, seeing the hammer on the floor beside it, probably the one the voice had used. He grabbed it, slamming the hammer into it and splintering the wood, pulling at it frantically until he was able to see Emilia’s face through the hole. Her eyes were closed, her face looking peaceful, though dirt was on her perfect porcelain face.
“Emilia! God, Emilia! Answer me!” Quinn continued to rip at the wooden slats, pulling them off, finally getting a hole large enough to pull Emilia’s frail body out.
He held her in his arms, hugging her close.
“Oh, Emilia,” he looked down to her, stroking her torn, dirty hair out of her face.
She opened her eyes slowly. “Quinn?” she asked hoarsely.
He sighed in relief. “Emilia, I’m going to get you out of here. Stay awake, stay with me.”
He stood with her in his arms, climbing the step ladder carefully. He placed her down on the stage floor, getting up and onto the stage. He then got to his knees beside her, pulling her back into his arms.
“Quinn,” she whispered, her eyes drooping.
“Stay with me Emilia,” he said, holding her close. “I am going to get you out of here.”
Emilia’s eyes widened in horror as a black figure quickly ran out from the darkness, coming up behind Quinn. A blade shone from the candles, the darkness suddenly bursting alive, stretching out into shadows, swarming around both Quinn and Emilia.
There was silence, Emilia looking up to Quinn, her breathing picking up. “Quinn?”
His eyes were blank as he stared at her, a drop of something falling on her face. Another drop came, then another, until a large gush of crimson blood escaped from Quinn’s neck and poured onto Emilia.
A cold wind swept through the theatre, all the candles being blown out as a horrifying scream escaped the darkness, which began to slowly die off, leaving nothing but silence echoing off throughout the black.