Supercrab

“How did you do that?!” Sirena turned to Becks, her heavy silver jewelry tinkling, her wide yellow eyes aghast, but clearly entertained.

“I… didn’t,” she replied, her heart catching in her throat as she spoke. She smoothed down her ruff again, hoping none of the gathered Neopians had seen her hair stand on end when the massive castle doors slammed shut on their own. Her cousin Roxanne seemed to have a few frightening tricks in store for the guests, and Becks would have to try her best not to get scared right along with them if she was to keep playing the mysterious host. “It was the house itself, of course.”

“Such colorful characters out here in the boonies,” Quincy sounded loud and cheerful as he fluttered away from the door, almost masking the slight tremor of fear in his voice. “Always giving their superstitious little warnings!”

“It’s quite the warning,” Baldur raised his brows, his bright Techo eyes flashing with intrigue.

“Sure it is,” Jasper flicked his icy wings, shrugging off his traveling cloak, then straightened his bright red scarf before continuing. Becks sighed, picking up the cloak, once again relegated to butler. “And I bet the malformed freaks out here in the Haunted Woods say that about every castle. Great way to scare off prospective buyers who might want to build something useful out here instead of just another big creaky mansion–” The Hissi stopped mid-sentence, his tongue flicking out to smell the air. “What is that smell?”

All eyes once again turned to Unga the Usul. She didn’t seem to notice the unwelcome attention.

“It’s not often I see a Tyrannian out in the wide world of Neopia,” Baldur smiled down at her, his clear disdain lost on the heavy-browed Usul.

“Unga always rise to challenge,” she replied. “Even if Unga have to walk very far.”

“Hold on,” Sirena held up a tentacle, silver bracelets clinking gently against each other. “So you were told there was a Battledome competition here. I was told I would be meeting a… personal friend. Clearly neither of those is true… unless…” The Acara turned to Jasper, that coy smile once again creeping onto her face, slowly batting her heavily lashed eyelids. “Does the name… Sirena32 mean anything to you…?”

“Nope,” he replied, tiny points of light reflecting around the room as he shook his translucent head. “You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, lady. Are you folks not in real estate? I was told I’d be bidding on this place.”

“And I was under the impression this was a gala,” Quincy’s faerie wings flapped in annoyance, his flippers on his hips. “And clearly that is not the case.” His shining Bruce eyes darted to the plainly-dressed Becks.

“So we’ve been brought here under false pretenses,” Baldur squinted, his voice filled with mounting suspicion.

“If you’ll follow me,” Becks spoke loudly, projecting over the gathered Neopians. They all turned to face her. “I’ll show you to the dining room.”

Becks hadn’t been given a map of the castle. In the letter, Roxanne had only said ‘take them to the dining room’. And before Becks had arrived at the massive castle with its expansive grounds, she’d assumed it would be fairly easy to figure out which room was which. Now she was worried she would immediately get everyone lost and fail at the one clear instruction she’d been given. But, as it turned out, she didn’t need a map. Just as the candles had lit themselves when Roxanne appeared at the top of the stairs, they lit up all the way down the corridor, balls of light flickering to life deeper and deeper down the black hallways. Becks was pretty sure this was her cousin’s doing somehow, maybe the work of some switch that supplied the candles with gas.

At least… she was pretty sure.

Becks’ long Cybunny ears couldn’t help but turn nervously towards the guests, swiveling to focus on the shuffling feet, slithering bodies, fluttering wings, and pop-pop-pop of tentacles that barely covered their nervous whispers.

“I can’t believe the ravings of some old coot has got you all shaking in your boots,” Jasper hissed dismissively. “At least the rumors mean I’ll probably be able to buy this place for a song. A new coat of paint, a few renovations… I bet I could break this place up into a bunch of housing units. Call ‘em luxury haunted condos. They’d sell like hotcakes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not shaking in any boots,” Quincy rebutted. But the chattering of the Bruce’s beak suggested otherwise.

“Unga just want fight,” the Tyrannian Usul grunted loudly. “It okay if it ghost. Unga not afraid to punch ghost.”

“I’m not afraid either,” the Maraquan Acara scoffed. “What can a ghost do? Nothing, unless you let it. I am intent on having a lovely evening. Even if I did get stood up.”

“You all say you’re not frightened,” Baldur’s voice was steady and calm. “As if none of you have ever heard of Eliv Thade. I’m sure all of us are feeling at least a little apprehensive. It’s all right to admit it.”

The crowd fell silent. Of course they’d heard of the Kacheek known as Eliv Thade. The one who’d gone mad, the one who supposedly haunted his castle, trapping anyone foolish enough to step foot inside and forcing them through endless puzzles until they finally met their end. It was a story they’d all heard around a campfire at some point in their lives.

Becks smiled to herself. She was glad the mutant Bori had managed to rile them up. Some of the pressure was off, and now she wouldn’t have to rely on her own less-than-average acting skills to sell the experience. Becks wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Roxanne had hired the old Bori herself to bring the last guest, just to get that extra bit of ambience. Her cousin was thorough, after all.

The only Neopian who didn’t seem bothered was the strange little alien Aisha.  It had finished its granola and was now keeping step with Becks, smiling excitedly, taking selfies with the flickering candles and decaying tapestries like they were all taking a casual stroll through a museum. But she was sure this Aisha had some vital role to play later in the evening. She wouldn’t want to inadvertently cause any problems for Roxanne, so she didn’t question the little green creature in its spacesuit.

The candles led them to the end of a long corridor, where an elegant doorway stood open, the room beyond lit dazzlingly with massive crystal chandeliers. Flickering candlelight danced across the stone walls and antique furniture, highlighting ancient china cabinets full of exquisite dishwear, expensive-looking bottles of exotic sparkling juice, and various other fineries from around the world. In the middle of the room was a long table, already stacked high with food and beverages, the chairs pulled out as if inviting them all to their seats.

Becks turned with what she hoped was a dramatic flourish, motioning for the guests to enter ahead of her. The Aisha nodded enthusiastically, leading the way for the rest of the nervous crowd.

Baldur was the last to slip past the red-ruffed Cybunny, his pastel scales practically glowing in the dim light of the hallway, outshining even the gold trim of his deep red tunic. His stride was confident as he stared into her eyes. There was an unsettling cunning to them. But he bowed slightly as he passed, joining the others in the bright room beyond.

Becks quickly pulled Roxanne’s instructions back out of the collar of her sweater, skimming her cousin’s coded bullet points just in case there was something she’d missed. But the instructions ended here. She was supposed to let the guests get comfortable, have a nice dinner, and then… she assumed something was going to happen. She wished she knew what it was.

But there was clearly nothing to be gleaned from this worn piece of paper. She shoved it back in her collar and straightened up, trying to assume an air of confidence as she swept into the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Ugh,” Quincy scoffed. “Is the whole castle going to be this… moldy?” He gestured towards the cabinets as he hovered above the floor, as if too nauseated by the disintegrating rugs to even touch them. It seemed he’d managed to pull himself from his nervousness by focusing on his mounting disgust.

“It’s not moldy, it’s antique,” Jasper crooned. “Folks pay big money for pieces like this. Strip ‘em down, re-paint them in hip modern colors, sell them for a pretty penny. It’s called upcycling. See, it’s all in how you spin it.” He tapped a splintered side table with the tip of his tail, and it wobbled dangerously, threatening to pitch a small vase of dead flowers to the stone floor below.

“If everyone would please take their seats,” Becks once again projected her voice, cutting through the guests’ murmured conversations. The Aisha plopped down in a chair the table in the center of the room. Unga followed, her pungent smell spreading out in a wave behind her. The others made their way to their seats hesitantly, glancing around the room as if expecting to be attacked.

But no attack came. There was only a spread of still-steaming dishes, waiting to be eaten.

“Let’s begin,” Becks took the lead, doing what she thought a host might do, though she’d never been nearly anywhere so fancy. She barely even recognized most of the food, though that was at least partially due to her unfamiliarity with the cuisine of the Haunted Woods. Her dish stared up at her, two eyeballs perched on top of a thick coil of oddly grey pasta. She hesitantly lifted a few greasy strands on her fork. She glanced back up at the other Neopians.

Unga wasted no time, grabbing the nearest hunk of protein, a steak which screamed and flapped a tiny pair of devilish wings as she tore into it. The Aisha snapped a quick picture of its plate, but the helmet protected it from having to sample anything. Sirena took a polite bite of the stew in front of her, which bubbled menacingly, faces seeming to swirl up from its depths. She fought to swallow, and didn’t go in for a second spoonful. Quincy only looked down at his food in obvious disgust, Jasper sneered at the spread, and Baldur sat back with measured dignity, napkin folded in his lap as he made no moves to eat.

Becks put her fork back down, the noodles still dangling from its tines. She’d done her part. There was no need to give herself food poisoning in an attempt to be a decent host.

“So you’re from Terror Mountain, then?” Sirena turned to Jasper, breaking the uneasy silence at the table.

“Born and raised,” he replied, tossing a strangely lively olive into his mouth with the tip of his icy tail. “I’m kind of a big deal up there. I own most of the town at this point, and I’ve taken it from backwoods wasteland to the bustling tourist attraction you know today. I’m what you might call a local celebrity… in fact, I’m actually related to the Snowager. Yes, the Snowager. I’m sure you can see the resemblance.”

“I certainly can,” Sirena crooned. “I was fortunate enough to vacation up there with one of my ex-husbands. We took the whole ice caves tour, Snowager and all. You’re really the spitting image. Alas, that trip isn’t all pleasant memories, as my husband got lost in the snow and was never recovered. They figured a Snowbeast took him. But at least we got a good vacation in before that.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Quincy placed a comforting flipper on Sirena’s tentacle. “It must have been so difficult to cope with such a loss.”

“Thank you, thank you, it was,” she sniffled. “But at least I had his fortune to go home to. He made sure I was well taken care of.”

“How very thoughtful,” Jasper sneered. But he leaned a little closer to Sirena, clearly intrigued by the mention of a fortune.

“And, uh… Ugga, was it?” Quincy asked politely, his Faerieland manners overruling his disgust for the unkempt Usul. She grunted in recognition. “You said you were a Battledome competitor? I assume you do a lot of traveling, a lot of sightseeing?”

“Ugga mostly stay in Tyrannia,” she waved a fistful of wriggling pasta as she explained. “Ugga too big a deal to travel. Battledome fighters come to Ugga.”

“And yet you’re here,” Baldur leaned forward, gently taking charge of the conversation. “I suppose I’ll be the one to address the Elephante in the room. All of us came here for our own very important reasons, important enough to drag us all out into the middle of the Haunted Woods. Yet it seems we’ve all been lied to. So… why were we brought here under false pretenses? And who exactly sent us our invitations?”

“I wish I knew,” Jasper rolled his eyes. “Whoever it was has wasted a lot of my incredibly valuable time. But I’m not stickin’ around to figure it out. As soon as I’ve eaten as much of their expensive weirdo food as I can stomach, I’m out of here.”

“I have no enemies that I’m aware of,” Quincy rested his head in his flippers, sighing heavily. “I have no idea who would pull a prank like this on a member of Fyora’s court. Everyone knows we don’t have an evil bone in our bodies.”

“No one here has any ties to the Haunted Woods, then? Has anyone so much as visited before?” Baldur asked, chuckling slightly, trying to keep the mood light despite his line of interrogation.

“Oh, I came here on one of my honeymoons!” Sirena piped up. “It was terrible. The relationship didn’t survive the trip, I’m afraid. And neither did my ex-husband. So we can rule him out.” She laughed. Jasper shifted away from her slightly. 

“Not necessarily…” Baldur squinted, glancing around the room with mounting suspicion. “What about you, gracious host?” He turned his piercing gaze to her. “Surely you know something.”

Becks stared back at him dumbly. She had no idea what to say, or whether she should even say anything at all. She was the only one who came here knowing what she was supposed to do, and even then, she only knew part of it. If all went well, they’d finish dinner and she could see all the guests to the door and settle in for a delightful evening of catching up with her cousin. But it didn’t seem like such an elaborately planned event would end so easily. She was on-edge, and had no idea whether she was supposed to step in and calm everyone down, or if all this was part of whatever Roxanne had planned.

“Ugh, what a sorry excuse for wine,” Jasper scoffed as he gestured with his goblet, breaking Becks free from her obligation to answer Baldur. He pushed his chair back, glancing around at the finery behind the glass cabinets. An elegant display case full of unopened bottles caught his eye, and he smirked, uncoiling from his spot at the table and making his way across the room. “If whoever invited us here is going to waste my time, I might as well waste their expensive drinks.” He reached out his glimmering icy wing and unfastened the cabinet doors. 

Becks half-stood, getting ready to admonish the Hissi for his blatant theft, but the words caught in her throat. The bottles weren’t the only thing in the cabinet. Inside, tucked between them, was what looked like a spectral, feathery hand, blue and translucent. It inconspicuously pushed one of the bottles forward before disappearing. Becks blinked, unsure of what she’d just seen. Jasper seemed none the wiser, his eyes scanning the labels, and Becks sat back down, any words of protest fading from her mind, replaced by mounting dread.

Baldur’s eyes flicked to hers. His expression was unreadable, but Becks somehow got the distinct impression that he had seen the same thing she did.

“Now look at this,” Jasper hissed, his tail coiling around the neck of a bottle and hoisting it up for all to see. It was the bottle the ghostly hand had pushed forward. “Excellent year, made with Altadorian grapes, with the subtlest hints of plum… this is not an easy wine to get ahold of, let me tell you. Let’s crack it open and really make this mysterious host regret sending those letters.”

He yanked out the cork with a skilled twist of his tail and a loud pop. 

“Wait, I don’t think you should–” Becks held out a hand, as if she could stop him from all the way across the room. But he didn’t pay her any mind. In one swift motion, he knocked it back, swallowing at least a quarter of the bottle in one go. He lowered it, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Not as good as I remember it…” he glanced down at the dark liquid sloshing around inside the glass. “Has a weird aftertaste. Maybe this one’s gone off.”

Something dripped to the floor. He glanced down, his brow knitting in confusion as more droplets splattered to the rough cobblestones directly beneath him. He stretched out his wings, examining them with wide, shocked eyes as yet more liquid dripped down his scales. 

He seemed to be sweating profusely. Or, more precisely, his icy skin seemed to be melting.

“What in the…” he was suddenly less transparent than before, his translucent pallor clouding over, shifting from a pleasant blue to rotten green. The other guests watched on in horror, Becks included. The feathers dripped from his wings, leaving only green mottled hands behind, spotted scales erupting along the length of his body. His sleek face seemed to puff up, his expression shifting towards ferocity as armor grew out of his brows and forehead.

Finally, and most horrifically, a bulge started to form at the base of his neck. It writhed, pushing out and elongating, like a living thing was struggling underneath his skin.

“I can’t watch!” Sirena turned away. Quincy had already all but fainted, draped in his chair dramatically as the Hissi continued to shift and change.

The bulge grew eyes. Then it opened a wide, fanged mouth, its forked tongue flicking out. It continued to push out from Jasper’s body, lengthening until its face met his, and its shape finally coalesced into something that made sense, as horrific as it was. A second head had sprouted from his shoulders.

“Y-you’ve become a mutant!” Quincy sputtered.

“What are you talking about?” Jasper gasped. “The juice just isn’t agreeing with me, I’ll be right as rain in no time…”

“No, he got it, we’re a mutant now,” the second head sighed. While Jasper’s eyes were sharp and fierce, this head seemed to have an eternal look of despair, its eyes heavy-lidded and morose, the corners of its mouth drooping in a permanent frown. “There’s no point in denying it.”

“And who exactly are you?” Jasper demanded, turning to face his other head.

“I’m that little voice in the back of your head that tells you not to lie and do bad things,” it whimpered. “You stopped paying attention to me a long time ago, though.”

“Of course I did, just listen to you,” Jasper crossed his arms, the end of his tail twitching in frustration. “You’re all mopey and pathetic.”

Becks watched in confused horror as the two heads bickered. Both Quincy and Sirena watched along with her, expressions betraying their fear and disgust. Only Baldur and Ugga seemed unfazed, the latter happily munching a massive hunk of meat.

A chuckle from the far corner of the room caused Becks to nearly startle out of her skin. The crowd collectively turned towards the sound, and were greeted by the ghostly figure of a Lenny, lightly glowing in the darkness of the grand dining hall.

“Well, Jasper, old pal,” the Lenny snickered. “You made this too easy. I knew you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take something valuable that isn’t yours.”

“Is that a… g-g-...” Sirena stammered.

“A g-g-ghost?” The Lenny completed for her. “Unfortunately, yes. Though not for much longer. I’ve just wrapped up my unfinished business, so I’ll be moving on to greener pastures momentarily. Now that Jasper can never menace anybody else. Not while at least one of his heads is honest.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Jasper crooned from across the room, stumbling slightly as he tried to slither forward, his new body uneager to listen to him. “I don’t even know you! You’ve got no right to do this to me–”

“But we do know him,” the morose head interrupted. “Don’t you remember? We tried to scare him out of his property by throwing bricks through his windows and leaving nasty anonymous messages scrawled on his door. When he was at his wits’ end, thinking everyone in the neighborhood had turned against him, we approached him and offered to buy his place so he could move away… and of course he accepted the first offer we gave, for much less than what we knew the place was worth. We basically stole his house right out from under him.”

“And then with the ridiculous pittance you offered me, I was unable to buy anything else,” the Lenny continued. “Not up in Terror Mountain. Not Happy Valley, not even Neopia Central. The only place I could afford was way out here, and eventually, I found my way to this place… and never made it back out.”

“That’s your own fault!” Jasper chided defensively. “Your place was prime real estate. You should have known you could sell the place for more, whether you were being terrorized has nothing to do with whether or not you did research before high-tailing it out of there! That’s not on me.”

“You know that’s not true,” the other head said in a baleful voice. “Oh, well. We got what was coming to us.”

“That’s right,” the Lenny smiled, his form already starting to dissipate. “You’ll never be able to lie to anyone again. Not even yourself. Have a good life, Jasper.”

And with that, he was gone.

The room fell silent, as if the gathered Neopians were waiting for the spirit to reappear for one last jab.

“Oh, and while I’m at it,” the second head broke the anxious quiet. “We’re not even related to the Snowager.”

Becks stared down at the invitation in her hand, then back up at the crumbling castle. It was not what she’d been expecting. Roxanne had never said anything about a castle in her letters, and Becks had assumed that any references to “parlors”, “foyers”, “conservatories” had all been exaggerations on Roxanne’s part, little flourishes to help immerse Becks in whatever weird little event her cousin was planning.

But clearly, she’d been wrong to assume that her cousin would exaggerate. A chill breeze rattled the skeletal trees around her, their branches clacking against each other like long fingernails, the castle seeming to moan as the wind swept through its hidden corridors. Its long shadow bathed the grounds in darkness, its spires like reaching hands grasping out into the wilderness, hoping to ensnare any unwitting victims that happened by. And here Becks was, voluntarily stepping through the gates.

She shrugged off the shivers that had started to creep up her spine, chasing the goosebumps from her furry flesh. She trusted Roxanne. Her cousin would never put her in danger, so even if this mysterious event was in some old, possible-haunted castle, there was probably nothing to fear.

The Cybunny pushed against the massive doors, the heavy wood scraping across the stone floor of the entryway, announcing her arrival to anyone or anything that lurked in the dark hallways beyond.

It seemed colder inside than out. The air was stale and mildewy, chilling her lungs as she took a deep breath, trying not to panic as she stepped over the threshold. Becks couldn’t see far into the unlit castle– though the watery orange sunset attempted to shine through the stained glass window far above her, there was only so much it could illuminate before being swallowed up by the oppressive dark of the castle’s interior.

Another passing wind sent a moan deep through the belly of the vast stone structure. The red ruff of fur around her neck stood on end as the shivers returned, but she smoothed it back down, not wanting to embarrass herself in front of whatever lurked here. She couldn’t let anything know the place was having its intended effect. She had to put up a brave front. She pulled up the collar of her heavy sweater, as if its warmth could protect her against the eerie feeling that was building in her chest.

“Becks!” Roxanne’s familiar voice echoed out from somewhere beyond the light of the doorway. A single candle flickered to life, illuminating the face of a purple Wocky staring down at Becks from a good twenty feet off the ground. The Cybunny blinked in confusion, heart starting to race as she tried to make sense of the sight. But more flames danced up from hidden candelabras, light quickly spreading out from the Wocky across the entire entrance of the ancient castle.

Roxanne stood on the second floor landing, two long winding staircases on either side, now bright in the candlelight. She smiled down at Becks, who was trying to shake her momentary panic.

“You made it,” the Wocky said as her toothy grin widened. She was dressed in a stylish black tank top with jeans to match, not seeming to care that the modernity of her outfit clashed with her antique surroundings. Becks was glad to see that so little had changed about Roxanne in the time they’d been apart. She was still her cousin, even if she was now for some reason the occupant of a massive castle in the middle of the infamous Haunted Woods.

Roxanne and Becks had grown up just down the street from each other in Neopia Central, inseparable from childhood. That is, until Roxanne left. Becks would have been perfectly happy to continue exactly as they were, seeing each other every day and living simple, boring lives in the same city where they’d grown up. But Roxanne had always been restless, adventurous. Becks was perfectly content to merely read about all the strange worlds and creatures of Neopia, but Roxanne wanted to see them. To be the person who was written about.

When she finally decided to set out from Neopia Central, leaving Becks so she could explore the wide world beyond, she’d at least made sure to stay in constant contact, sending letters at every stop along her journey. Each was lovingly crafted with Roxanne’s particular brand of care, which usually consisted of hidden messages, codes, and puzzles. The longer their letter exchanges went on, the more elaborate the ciphers and clues, making them incomprehensible to anyone who wasn’t either of the cousins. The contents were always worth the effort, though. Roxanne lived a life worth reading about, always in some new and interesting place, in the middle of some new and interesting trouble.

But it seemed Roxanne had finally settled down somewhere. Becks had always hoped Roxanne would be able to tame her adventurous spirit and stay in one place long enough for Becks to finally come visit. Unfortunately, the place she’d decided to settle was the Haunted Woods.

Which was part of why she’d been so unable to resist her cousin’s invitation. Roxanne explained in her coded message that she’d invited an eclectic group of party guests to some sort of scripted event, right in the heart of the Haunted Woods. It sounded like the start of an old movie. And while Becks was nervous about leaving the safety of Neopia Central, the promise of seeing her cousin again after so many years, and in such an interesting setting, was too much to resist. Besides, Roxanne insisted that Becks play the part of host. She wouldn’t want to disappoint Roxanne by being too much of a coward to show up.

“You’re right on time!” Roxanne exclaimed from the top of the stairs. “Glad my map was clear enough. I doubt any of the locals would have wanted to give directions. Not to this place.”

“Wh-why not? Is there something I should know…?” Becks stammered.

“You managed to decode my last letter, right?” Roxanne asked, leaning over the banister.

“Yeah, but there wasn’t anything about what this place actually is…” Becks pulled the letter out of the wide collar of her sweater, holding it up to show her cousin. It was slightly crumpled from the journey, but still perfectly legible, at least if you’d memorized Roxanne’s favorite cipher. Otherwise it was all gibberish. Strings of random letters formed into nonsensical sentences. “I feel like I’m missing a page or something, I only have instructions up until dinner.”

“That’s everything you need to know for now,” Roxanne replied, her smile seeming almost devious in the flickering candlelight. “It should be pretty easy to follow along. For now, just play the good host, introduce the guests as they arrive, that sort of thing.”

“But what about you? Aren’t we doing this together?” Becks couldn’t help but feel disappointed. It had been years since they’d seen each other and Roxanne hadn’t even come down to give her a hug yet. So far, this wasn’t the heartfelt reunion she’d been expecting.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be guiding the events of the evening from backstage,” Roxanne explained. She took a step back from the banister, partially disappearing into the dark hallways of the second floor. “You’ve always been much more charming than me, I’m sure you’ll do great!”

And with that, she was gone, enveloped by the inky shadows beyond the candlelight. Becks was alone in the entryway.

“But… I’ve missed you…” she murmured into the empty stone foyer. Roxanne had always been intense, but Becks had been hoping for at least a little cousin bonding to make up for lost time. Instead, she was alone in an almost certainly haunted castle, waiting to wrangle a gaggle of strangers for some event she had no information about. An uneasy churning was building in her gut.

She tried to shake the feeling, taking a look at her now-illuminated surroundings. The castle was decorated just as one would expect– walls hung with ancient ragged tapestries, so bleached by age that whatever stories they were intended to tell had long since faded away. The floors were similarly decorated, vast rugs stretching from the entryway deep into the darkness beyond the flickering candles, clearly once magnificent, now rotten and dissolving at their edges. The hallways were lined with elegant candelabras, untouched by age, their candles fresh and barely used. Undoubtedly replaced recently by Roxanne.

Becks’ long ears twitched involuntarily. There was a sound from the path outside, the telltale crunching of wheels on a gravel path. She stood up straight, wheeling around to face the door, trying to get into character.

-----

 A pastel Techo made his way up the short stone staircase to the open doorway. He startled as the coach he’d arrived in pulled away quickly, the coachman snapping his reigns to urge his steeds into a hasty retreat. 

“Baldur of Brightvale, I presume?” Becks put on her most hostly voice to greet the Techo, folding her paws in an attempt at elegance. She’d been given a few vague details about each expected guest, just enough to know who they were when they arrived. This Techo was a member of the court in Brightvale castle, and according to everything Becks had read about Brightvale, that probably meant he was fiercely intelligent and cunning.

As he turned towards her, she could see it in his wide yellow eyes, that look of someone who’s always carefully calculating his next move.

“I am he,” he replied, looking her up and down. “Are you the butler or something?”

“No,” she corrected, a little insulted. “I’ll be your host this evening. Please, have a seat while we wait for the other guests to arrive.” She motioned towards a stone bench against the wall, an empty coat rack waiting at its edge.

He glanced in its direction as he took off his heavy cloak, revealing the deep red tunic beneath, its elegant gold embroidery glimmering in the candlelight. He handed her the cloak, which fell into her arms with a heavy thump, dust from his long journey rising up in a small cloud around her face. She coughed.

“There’s a coat rack…” she muttered.

“This place has seen better days,” he sneered as he took in the room, his sharp eyes trailing up the rotting tapestries. “Though I suppose that’s to be expected. Now,” he turned his gaze back to her. “Is a tour in order? Or am I free to make my own way through the castle?”

“We’re not going anywhere until the other guests arrive,” Becks responded, hanging up his coat for him despite her mounting disgust for the Techo and his judgmental gaze. But his eyes weren’t on her anymore, instead flicking back out at the grey trees, blackened in silhouette against the dying sunlight.

“Other guests?” Before Baldur could express his clear frustration, the sound of fluttering wings filled the air, announcing the next arrival.

“That journey was absolutely dreadful, absolutely!” A faerie Bruce flapped into view, flying into the room without setting foot on the dusty floor. “The skies out there are teeming with those nasty little batterflies. They nearly tore a hole straight through my wings. Don’t the citizens of the Haunted Woods have any sort of control over their local wildlife?”

He unspooled a long scarf that had been wound around his almost nonexistent neck, unveiling his beautiful fuschia bow. He straightened it as Becks held out her hands in welcome, preparing to greet him as she had Baldur. Before she could utter a word, he’d plopped his scarf down in her outstretched arms, not so much as making eye contact before turning towards the Techo.

“So good to see another normal face,” the Bruce sighed with cartoonish exasperation. “I made the mistake of stopping in a local town. You wouldn’t believe the sort of ghouls who live here…”

“Believe me, I do,” Baldur responded, his voice eerily matching the Bruce’s as his face settled into a mask-like smile. “You should have seen the coachman who brought me here. Skin like a wet sponge and more eyes than I could count.”

“Ahem,” Becks cleared her throat. The two turned back to face her, the Bruce with a slightly confused look. “You must be Quincy of Faerieland. I’m Becks, I’ll be your host this evening.”

“Oh,” Quincy uttered, a short syllable that somehow carried the full weight of the disappointment that he not only had to acknowledge her existence, but may have made a mistake by not doing so in the first place. “Do you… own this castle, then?”

“No,” Becks replied. She could see the tension leave his tiny shoulders. Clearly, he thought, Becks wasn’t that important. She sighed, carefully holding back an eyeroll. “Like I said. I’m your host.”

“All right then,” he said dismissively, turning back to Baldur.

Becks huffed over to the coat rack, depositing the Bruce’s scarf with as much obvious annoyance as she could muster while the two exchanged pleasantries.

The next guest didn’t arrive for a few long minutes, allowing ample time for the two high-class Neopians to have a back-and-forth about how disgusting they found the locals and how much they reminded them of whatever version of lowly peasants they’d both had the misfortune to encounter in their home provinces.

The next coach that arrived was obviously more expensive than Baldur’s had been, instantly drawing the attention of both Baldur and Quincy. The Maraquan Acara who slid out from the passenger’s seat jingled as she walked up to the doors, elegant jewelry draped everywhere it could fit. She had a wide silver necklace, set with a dazzling blue sapphire which reflected the weak candlelight of the entrance. Two heavy silver earrings pulled at her finlike ears. And on each tentacle, a bracelet to match, dotted with tiny glimmering jewels.

She made her way up the stairs, sashaying as her suckered tentacles gripped the stone steps. Her eyes fell on Baldur, and she flashed him a coy smile as she approached him.

“Are you…” she asked, voice delicate and dripping with feminine guile. “Guarded_Heart849? It’s me. Sirena32.”

Baldur was clearly confused.

“I’m afraid not, miss Sirena,” he responded. “Though I’m sure I’m still pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her demeanor shifted instantly, a slight embarrassed flush rising in her olive-grey cheeks.

“Oh, of course, yes, my apologies,” she stammered, tripping slightly as she slithered into the foyer. She locked eyes with Quincy, instead, expression settling back into the same coy smile. She fluttered her eyelashes. “Then… you must be…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, madame,” Quincy took a step away from the advancing Acara, holding up his flippers defensively.

“Of course not,” she winked.

“I mean it!” He insisted, crossing his arms with finality. “You must be talking about our host over there. The plain-looking Cybunny.”

“Hey,” Becks couldn’t help but protest. The Acara turned, noticing her for the first time.

“No,” Sirena squinted at her. “I don’t think so. And I’m guessing it’s not the one behind her, either.” Sirena gestured with a silver-clad tentacle towards the darkness behind Becks. 

Becks’ heart froze. Behind…? Roxanne’s plan was apparently to stay in the shadows the whole night, a secret host pulling the strings of whatever she had planned. If there was something behind her… it probably wasn’t Roxanne.

She could suddenly hear a crunching from the dark hallway. Her long ear swiveled, focusing on the distinctive sound not a foot away, imagining a million horrors that could be standing in the gloom.

She turned.

There was an Aisha standing beside her. Fully decked-out in a Kreludor space-suit, its two pairs of long ears poking out from the dome of its helmet. One paw was inside the helmet, clutching a half-eaten granola bar, crumbs sticking to the bright green fur around its mouth. It chewed slowly as it looked up to meet Becks’ gaze, its one empty sleeve hanging limply at its side.

Becks quickly took Roxanne’s instructions back out of her sweater. She scanned them again, even though she’d done her best to memorize everything she was supposed to know. It was as she thought. There was no Aisha from Kreludor on the list, or any Aisha at all, for that matter.

“Are you supposed to be here?” She asked the little green alien. It nodded enthusiastically.

Becks stared down at it for another moment as it slowly took another bite of its granola bar. It wasn’t possible Roxanne had forgotten one of the guests, she was too thorough to make that sort of mistake. But it was possible she had some kind of plan that involved a secret guest, one Becks hadn’t known about. She figured it was best not to question the visitor from the stars. She was sure its presence would make sense at some point down the line.

She turned back to the rest of the guests.

Yet another had joined their ranks while she’d been occupied by the Aisha. A Tyrannian Usul was standing in the doorway, club in hand, much to the apparent horror of the other guests. Quincy held his beak, trying to block out the smell emanating from the creature.

“Me Unga,” the Usul grunted. “Me here for battledome challenge.”

“You have the wrong place,” Quincy blurted out, his relief clear.

“If you were looking for the Stone Dome, you’ve taken a wrong turn,” Baldur explained patiently.

“No,” Unga explained. “This right address.”

“She’s correct,” Becks jumped in, trying not to breathe in any of the slowly toxifying air as she spoke. “This is Unga of Tyrannia. She’ll be one of our guests this evening.”

Unga stepped forward, her smell stepping along with her. The crowd shifted away. The Usul approached Becks, who tried her best to stomach the thick Tyrannian funk filling the space between them. Unga dropped her club in Becks’ hands.

“You butler?” Unga asked.

“No,” Becks sighed. “I’m the host. Why does everyone keep handing me their stuff…”

“How many more guests are we expecting?” Quincy huffed. “I traveled quite a ways to be here and would appreciate it if we could move on with the festivities.”

“Just one more,” Becks replied. And, as if on cue, the sound of crunching gravel announced his arrival.

An ice Hissi appeared on the path outside, what was visible of his smooth translucent skin shimmering in the light spilling out from the open doorway. Slightly ahead of him was the hunched figure of a mutant Bori, limping its way towards the castle steps.

“Everyone, this is Jasper of Terror Mountain, our final guest,” Becks explained, trying to sound authoritative and mysterious to recover the hostly air she’d already lost.

“There, you daft fool,” the Bori called out, turning to face the Hissi. “I’ve taken you to the castle. Against all sanity…”

“Thanks,” Jasper replied, unenthused. “You can go now.” He started to slither past the Bori. But a clawed hand shot out, stopping the Hissi before he could start up the staircase.

“If you step into that castle you may never see daylight again,” the Bori warned, his voice grave and serious. But the Hissi flapped his icy wing, batting the Bori’s claw out of his way. He hurried up the steps, joining the other guests in the doorway.

“Ugh, he’s been going on about this for miles,” huffed Jasper. “The locals are such a superstitious bunch. You wouldn’t believe what it took to get a guide to take me up here…”

“I never should have done it,” the Bori called up to him. “I don’t know how I’ll live with myself knowing what fate I’ve brought upon you. The whole lot of you are doomed! You’ve entered the Castle of Eliv Thade, and none of you will make it out alive!”

And with that, the heavy doors slammed shut, sealing Becks and the strange assortment of guests inside.