Canto 3: The Nightmare

Is true fear an absence of light, or is it the monstrous creations our minds conjure within the darkness?

- - -

Professor Bridges listened intently as Reyn detailed Bernadette's premonitions, a faint crease appearing between her forehead and a flicker of concern in her eyes.

"Reyn," she said, her voice gentle, "Bernadette's instincts were important. Tell me more about what happened after you settled into Blackwood Manor."

Reyn lifted her head, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Professor, we were told the Manor itself was safe. The real danger zone was supposed to be beyond it, deeper in the mountain."

Professor Bridged's expression remained unreadable, but a hint of skepticism flickered in her eyes. "Safe?" she repeated, the word carrying a faint echo.

"Yes," Reyn continued, elaborating. "The local rangers, assured us the Manor was a good base camp. We had everything we needed, and supposedly, it wasn't on the path to the more dangerous areas."

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the rhythmic tick of the clock.

"But something changed, didn't it?" Professor Bridged finally asked, her voice soft but firm.

Shame washed over Reyn again. "Yes," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It was that night. Bernadette feel like something was amiss."

- - -

April 17, 2016 ; Blackwood Manor

The skeletal branches of ancient trees clawed at the bruised sky as Bobby ushered the eight students towards the looming silhouette of Blackwood Manor. The air hung heavy with the approaching night, a chill settling over the group despite the setting sun casting long, orange fingers across the mountainside.

A shiver ran down Reyn's spine, a mix of excitement and unease churning in her stomach.

Blackwood Manor, with its crumbling facade and boarded-up windows, resembled a decaying giant from a forgotten fairytale.

Bobby stopped at the creaking iron gate. "Alright, listen up, y'all," he began, his voice gruff but warm. "This is the Blackwood Manor. You stick together, no wandering off. The old place is a maze, and trust me, you don't want to get lost after dark."

A chorus of nervous agreements rose from the group. Pearl, with a bright smile, chimed in. "Don't worry, Bobby's here to keep us safe. Now, let's have some fun exploring! Just remember, respect the history within these walls."

With a groan that seemed to echo through the very stones of the manor, the rusty gate swung open. Bobby pushed it wide, ushering them into the overgrown courtyard. The students, a mix of eager and hesitant, followed close behind.

Inside, the manor was a symphony of dust motes dancing in the fading light that filtered through the grimy windows. Cobwebs draped the high ceilings like ghostly tapestries, and the air carried the faint scent of mildew and forgotten memories. Curiosity piqued, the students spread out, their flashlights bobbing like fireflies in the gloom.

Merciline, drawn by an inexplicable magnetism, found herself wandering down a shadowed hallway. The air here felt colder, the silence pressing in on her. Her boots crunched softly on the debris-strewn floor as she navigated the twists and turns. Then, just around a corner, a glint of reflected light caught her eye.

There, hanging on the wall at the end of the corridor, was a painting. It wasn't large, but it held her gaze captive. Unlike the other portraits lining the hallways, this one seemed to pulsate with an unsettling energy.

The scene depicted a young woman sprawled unconscious on a rumpled bed, bathed in an unnatural moonlight. Her face was contorted in terror, her pale skin stretched taut.

A monstrous creature, its form a grotesque parody of a man, crouched on her chest, its face a blur of shadow and moonlight.

A nervous giggle escaped Merciline's lips. "Creepy," she muttered, but couldn't tear her eyes away. Suddenly, an idea sparked in her mind.

"Hey guys!" she called out, her voice echoing in the vast hall. "Gather around, I found something interesting."

One by one, her classmates emerged from the shadows, curiosity etched on their faces. Reyn, was the first to reach her side.

Merciline pointed her flashlight at the painting. "Look at this," she said, her voice hushed. "Anyone know what period this painting might be from?"

Reyn squinted at the scene, her brow furrowing in concentration. The flickering light accentuated the woman's terror and the creature's menacing form. A flicker of recognition crossed her features.

"Uh, yeah," Reyn stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "It looks like the Romantic period. The dark, glossy style, the focus on emotions... that all points to Romanticism. Actually, this painting kind of reminds me of..."

She paused, then aimed her own flashlight at the painting, illuminating it fully. Suddenly, the details seemed sharper, the scene more intense.

"This painting kind of reminds me of 'The Nightmare' by Henry Fuseli," Reyn finished, a tremor of unease in her voice.

A collective gasp rippled through the group.

Just then, Primitivo, materialized beside them, his face shrouded in shadow.

"Indeed," he spoke, his voice a low rumble. "The Nightmare, and an authentic one at that."

The others whirled towards him, questions bursting forth. "How did you know?" "What do you mean, authentic?"

Primitivo, however, remained silent. Instead, he walked to a nearby dusty table and with a flourish, smoothed out a piece of aged parchment. He scribbled a cryptic message across it, then ripped it from the pad, leaving it on the table before turning and disappearing down a darkened hallway.

The message, illuminated by their flashlights, read: “Beware.”

*****

The flickering candlelight danced eerily across the dusty dining table in Blackwood Manor. Eight plates sat laden with a surprisingly fresh meal courtesy of Bobby and Pearl, the two rangers. A tense silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional nervous cough.

Primitivo's absence loomed large. The memory of his cryptic message lingered in everyone's minds, a dark stain against the backdrop of their exploration.

Bernadette, replayed the scene in her head  Primitivo disappearing down a darkened hallway, the message left behind like an unsettling clue.

Across from her, Reyn sat fidgeting, her social awkwardness heightened by the eerie atmosphere. Despite her discomfort, she forced herself to make eye contact with the others, trying to gauge their anxiety levels. Her keen observation skills, honed by her introverted nature, picked up on the subtle tremors of fear.

Mark, attempted to lighten the mood. "Alright, everyone," he boomed, his voice echoing in the vast hall. "Let's not let Primitivo's vanishing act spoil our dinner. Bobby's outdone himself with this stew!"

A few forced chuckles rippled around the table. Aaron nudged Ezekiel with a mischievous grin. Ezekiel, his eyes wide with terror, jumped a mile, sending his spoon clattering to the floor.

"Dude, not cool," hissed Vonster, the arrogant one, glaring at Aaron. Even in this tense situation, Vonster couldn't resist an opportunity to assert dominance.

Merciline, noticed the flicker of annoyance pass between Aaron and Vonster. She knew their rivalry could escalate quickly, adding to the already simmering tension.

Bernadette made her steal a glance at Reyn. The young woman's normally shy demeanor was replaced by a stark alertness, her eyes scanning the room with an intensity that sent a jolt through Bernadette.

In that moment, their eyes met, and for the briefest of seconds, a silent understanding passed between them.

They both knew something was wrong. The cryptic message, Primitivo's disappearance, the oppressive feeling that permeated the manor it all pointed to danger.

As the group continued their meal, a silent vow passed between Bernadette and Reyn. They would stay vigilant, watch out for each other, and be prepared for whatever darkness might lurk within the shadows of Blackwood Manor.

They knew they might need to rely on each other's strengths, Bernadette's cautious nature complementing Reyn's keen observations, to navigate the coming challenges.

But beneath the surface of her forced composure, Reyn's instincts, honed by years spent alone in the wilderness, were screaming. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, a primal fear clawing at her insides.

The air in the room felt thick and heavy, charged with a hidden menace. Her eyes darted from one shadowed corner to another, searching for the source of the unease that gnawed at her. This wasn't just nerves, this was a deeper, more primal warning. Something was terribly wrong in Blackwood Manor, and Reyn, unlike the others, could feel it in her bones.

After their meal, Bobby and Pearl choose to patrol while searching for Primitivo. The seven students choose to occupy the large room together. They cleaned the dust and cobwebs.

The flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows that danced across the dusty floorboards as Bernadette, Aaron, Mark, and Reyn huddled together in a corner of the large room. Sleep had already claimed Ezekiel, Merciline, and Vonster, their soft snores a counterpoint to the nervous tension that crackled in the air.

Mark, kept his voice low and asked, "Do you think Primitivo is okay? He just disappeared after leaving that creepy message."

Bernadette, ran a hand through her hair. "We don't know, but Bobby and Pearl are out there searching. They'll find him."

Across from them, Reyn sat perched on a rolled-up sleeping bag, her gaze flitting from Bernadette and Mark to the sleeping forms in the room.

Aaron leaned in with a mischievous grin. "Maybe Primitivo found some hidden treasure and skipped out on us."

Mark snorted. "Yeah, right. This place is anything but a treasure trove." He lowered his voice again. "Speaking of creepy, what do you guys think about that painting we saw earlier? The Nightmare, or whatever it was called?"

Bernadette shivered, the memory of the grotesque scene sending a cold jolt down her spine. "It did give me chills. Especially with the way Primitivo mentioned it being 'authentic.', and I feel like something was watching my every move."

Mark, however, waved her concerns away. "Probably just an old house settling and being isolated in the middle of nowhere. Bobby said this place was safe, remember?" His words carried a forced confidence that did little to ease the unease gnawing at Bernadette's gut. "And it just your imagination that someone or something was watching your every move."

"Lets sleep, tomorrow is our scenes at the meadow."

"Good night."

The conversation lulled, replaced by a tense silence punctuated by the rhythmic snores of their sleeping companions. Despite the exhaustion that weighed on her eyelids, Reyn couldn't shake the feeling of impending danger. She tossed and turned on her sleeping bag, her senses on high alert.

The old clock on the mantle chimed twelve, each bong echoing through the silent house like a death knell. As the final chime faded, a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the hallway outside their room. It wasn't a human scream – it was a sound of raw, primal terror, unlike anything Reyn had ever heard.

Reyn bolted upright in her sleeping bag, heart hammering against her ribs. Moonlight streamed through the cobwebbed window, casting an eerie glow on the room. But it was the absence of something that sent a jolt of pure terror through her the flickering candlelight had vanished, plunging them into complete darkness.

Bernadette's strangled gasp confirmed Reyn's fear. A moment of paralyzing silence followed, broken only by the ragged breaths of their companions awakening in the sudden darkness.

Then, from the inky blackness of the hallway, a sound emerged that sent shivers down their spines a low, guttural growl, laced with a hunger that seemed to emanate from the very depths of hell.

Panic seized the room. Ezekiel, his voice high with fear, started babbling about ghosts. Mark fumbled for his lighter, its faint click the only sound in the oppressive silence.

Reyn, however, knew they were dealing with something far more terrifying than any ghost story. Gripping the makeshift weapon in her hand, a surge of primal courage replaced her fear. Whatever lurked in the darkness, they wouldn't go down without a fight.

Across the hall, bathed in the cool moonlight streaming through a high window, sat a solitary figure. Primitivo, his face obscured by shadows, gazed out at the moonlit landscape. A single, phrase escaped his lips, barely a whisper on the night wind:

"The hunt has begun."

To be continued . . .

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