Episode 6 ~ Whispers in the Shadows

Written by StillnessandSilence

They had been in Jessica’s Lexus LS 400 for hours, driving toward their next mission. The destination was somewhere in the mountains—or so Calliope thought. She was still groggy from staying up late with Sumit, and watching anime movies. They’d made a nostalgic trip to Blockbuster and rented Lensman and Dragon Ball Z. His room had been a disaster—gym socks strewn about, some of which she swore could stiffly walk off independently. But it had been better than sitting awake, wrestling with the strange thoughts that whispered someone, somewhere, wanted her.

Sumit was at the wheel, focused on the road. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, Arnos had inexplicably lost all his hair—including his once-glorious flaming beard. He now sat in the passenger seat, his mouth slightly open, seemingly still in shock. In the backseat, Gideon and Elizabeth were deep in conversation, while Alro crunched loudly on a snack. Jessica was not going to be happy about that.

Calliope let the cold air and the steady hum of the road lull her to sleep. Somewhere in the background, Casey Kasem’s Top 40 played, Deadeye Dick’s, New Age Girl buzzing softly through the speakers.

When she woke, something was decidedly off. A strange hologram of a man in a toga had appeared in the car, calmly explaining their mission—a trip to a wizard’s dungeon. Blinking away her drowsiness, Calliope stretched, her curls falling into her face as she tucked them behind her ear. Her voice was still husky from sleep as she asked, “Where are we?”

“Arby’s,” Gideon replied flatly.

She blinked again, this time at the glowing neon sign outside the window and the imposing stone door carved into the mountainside nearby. Did people without magic just not see the door? She vaguely remembered the hologram mentioning something about it appearing only once every few centuries. Still groggy, she followed the others as they went inside to order food.

What followed was a loud and ridiculous debate over how to pronounce gyro.

“Earo?”
“Gee-ro?”
“It’s yee-ro,” someone interjected, which only sparked another round of bickering.

Calliope couldn’t help but smile—a rare, fleeting moment when her emotions felt genuine.

When her turn came, she ordered a gyro and ate it with quiet intention, savoring every bite. At one point, she wiped a dollop of tzatziki from the corner of her mouth, completely unaware of how Gideon and Elizabeth turned beet red. Sumit, visibly flustered, excused himself entirely.

For a short while, Calliope forgot about the mission, the dungeon, and her unsettling thoughts. She let herself enjoy the absurdity of the moment and the company of her companions.

The stone door opened with a strange, inward pull, almost sucking them inside. As they descended into the mountain’s depths, their steps echoed against the cold stone walls. Magical lights from the others illuminated the way, but the path was disorienting, a tangle of twists and turns. Calliope squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the space.

They encountered skeletons along the way, and while she helped, her contribution felt small. The group eventually split, some heading north, others south. As Calliope stepped out of one room, she realized she was alone.

The corridor ahead was faintly lit for a moment before plunging into total darkness. She froze, listening for footsteps, but heard only the ticking of her heart—steady and mechanical, growing faster with each breath.

Something grabbed her.

It happened too quickly to process. One moment she was in the corridor; the next, she was somewhere else entirely.

The new room was lavish and strange. A plush bed with a velvet canopy stood against one wall, and richly upholstered chairs surrounded a low table set with tea. The air was warm and smelled faintly sweet, but there was something subtly off about it—a note of wrongness beneath the pleasant aroma.

In the corner, crouched a creature that seemed to flicker in and out of reality, its form indistinct in the shadows. It was gray-skinned, wrinkled like the bark of an ancient tree, with horns sprouting from its forehead. Its eyeballs, darker than the night sky, gleamed with an eerie, almost sentient malice, void of whites, giving it the semblance of being blind yet all-knowing. Its clothes appeared to be forever moving, as though blown by an invisible wind, though the air remained still.

The creature made soft, guttural noises, its movements methodical, unsettlingly precise as it shuffled toward her. Calliope froze, her breath catching in her throat.

It held out a dress.

The garment was exquisite: a deep blue adorned with intricate clockwork patterns, tiny gears and cogs woven into the fabric as though they might start turning at any moment. The craftsmanship was stunning, but something about it felt wrong, too—like a trap waiting to snap shut.

Calliope hesitated, her heart ticking faster, each beat echoing in her ears like a clock gone awry. The creature tilted its head, its dark eyes locked on her, and she could feel the weight of its gaze, pressing down on her. Mustering her courage, she finally spoke. “Don’t look,” she said firmly.

To her shock, the creature obeyed. With a slow, deliberate motion, it plucked its own eyes from its sockets and held them in its hands, the dark spheres glistening in the dim light. Calliope’s stomach churned at the grotesque sight, a sheen of cold sweat breaking out across her skin. The gears inside her chest ticked faster, nearly slipping out of rhythm.

She forced herself to breathe, to stay calm, though the growing noise of the ticking made that nearly impossible.

Swallowing hard, she reached out and accepted the dress from the creature. The fabric was cool against her fingertips, the intricate clockwork patterns catching the light in strange, unsettling ways. She held it close, not sure whether to flee or continue playing along with the creature’s twisted game.

“Pretty... pretty...” the creature muttered in a singsong voice as she reluctantly began to change. The air around her shifted subtly, as though responding to her emotions, her bubbling anxiety breaking through the fragile calm. She glanced down at the necklaces around her neck—charms meant to suppress her feelings, to keep her steady. They weren’t working.

As she adjusted the dress, the creature reached out toward her. Before it could make contact, it recoiled with a sharp, rasping noise, as though burned. Calliope stepped back instinctively, her skin prickling with unease.

The room itself was chaotic but deliberate, cluttered with rich fabrics draped across furniture, towers of books and trinkets threatening to topple, and odd artifacts glinting in the dim light. It reminded her of the way she imagined a wizard’s study might look—except for the bed.

The bed loomed at the edge of the room, its presence heavy and oppressive. There was something wrong about it, though she couldn’t quite articulate why.

And then, somehow, Sumit appeared.

He was tiny—shrunken to his fey form—and perched precariously on the rim of a teapot. Calliope blinked at him in confusion, unsure whether to laugh or panic. His sudden presence was both a comfort and a reminder of just how unpredictable this dungeon was.

“Sumit,” she whispered, stepping toward him, “what are you—?”

Her words were cut off by a sharp, shocking sensation—a phantom touch gripping her bottom. She flushed deeply, a startled yelp escaping her lips as she spun around, looking for the source. But there was no one there.

The touch had been brief but undeniable, a jolt to her senses that left her standing frozen, the ticking in her chest now deafening. Her instincts screamed at her: she was in danger.

“What the hell was that?” she whispered, her voice shaking. Her eyes darted to Sumit, then to the creature still lurking in the room. It didn’t seem responsible—it was huddled in the corner, muttering softly to itself.

And then her gaze landed on the shadows at the edge of the room. They seemed to shift, to move with a life of their own.

She was on the verge of panic, the phantom sensation still lingering as her thoughts raced. The room felt alive, hostile, as though it were testing her resolve.

Against her better judgment, the words tumbled out.

“Help me,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she addressed the shadows, the creature—whoever, whatever might listen. “Please.”

The ticking in her chest faltered for a moment, then resumed, louder than ever.

Nexy Episode 7 ~ A Dance with the Puppeteer