Jules and Bastien sprinted toward the girls like madmen. But it was already too late, and all they could do was fling the door open and follow them inside, turning a blind eye to the knowing smiles that the staff members threw at them. 

They had no time to waste on those two.

Inside, the girls were chitchatting and laughing, pointing out the half-decomposed hands and arms that hung to the brick walls. Melody didn’t find the decoration to her taste, but her friends found it fascinating. Annabelle even skipped closer and bent over to take a better look, a mocking grin on her lips. Wasn’t that hand a little too deformed? And the purple-blue color, too unrealistic? Gosh, it looked so damn fake!

Feeling the blood rush to his head at the sight, Jules seemed to vanish only to reappear behind his sister the next instant. He wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her to his chest. At the same time, the hand shot out from the wall, trying to grab Annabelle by the throat.

Jules caught the hand mid-air, his short nail cutting through the swollen skin. He then let his spiritual energy run through his fingers, and the hand jolted as his energy wreaked havoc inside. After which, the severed limb soon stopped struggling, twitching one last time before becoming lifeless.

“Oh my God! That was so exciting!” Annabelle giggled, worming her way out of her brother’s grip. “But why did you catch it, bro? It’s a lot less scary if you get in the way. It’s just a rubber hand, it wouldn’t actually hurt me.”

“…Reflex,” Jules managed to reply through gritted teeth. “Next time, don’t run off without telling me.”

“Come on, I’m not a little girl! Don’t be so uptight.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes before bolting to her friends, telling them what had just happened in an excited voice. They had been distracted by something else at the time and hadn’t seen it, much to their regret.

As his sister talked, the smile on her lips grew bigger, while the frown on Jules’s face grew deeper.

Had he been a second later….

“Don’t think about it.” Bastien’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “She’s safe and sound, and that’s what matters.”

“Did you just read my mind?”

“Did I?”

“…”

His mouth twitched, but Jules decided not to comment and took in his surroundings instead.

For the time being, his little display of strength should keep the possessed limbs at bay. These cowardly things feigned death whenever a stronger being was in the vicinity, staying still like statues. They were weak things with strangely high survival instincts.

However, too many hung on the walls for Jules to feel safe. Hundreds, maybe? At any rate, the sight was disturbing.

It was mostly arms severed around the wrist or the elbow. The skin color varied, their thickness too; some were obviously from women, others from young teens. But they all had one thing in common, that was to say, the way they hung on the wall like hunting trophies.

Jules had a hunch some arms and hands were from previous customers who had fallen prey to the haunted house. Their limbs were purposely put on display in the entrance hall, as if to mock the people entering after them. It told the newcomers that this would be their ending—what bad taste. 

Unaware of this, the girls were happily walking around, commenting on which limbs they found the most realistic. More than once, they genuinely praised the artists who had sculpted them, clueless about the gruesome reality.

Jules ran a hand in his hair, thinking that he absolutely couldn’t tell them about the haunted house being truly haunted. Not only because they wouldn’t believe him, but also because it wouldn’t do them any good. Thinking that all of this was fake was better for their mental healths, or else he feared they would have a mental breakdown.

Right now, they could laugh and comment because they did not know those things were actual limbs. But even then, Melody seemed ill at ease, clinging onto Iris’s arm for her dear life.

If she knew…

Oh Lord, they were only teens.

“Is there a way to get the girls out? Without hurting them,” Jules asked Bastien in a low voice, his eyes firmly locked onto the teenagers.

“Not that I know. A high-ranked array is sealing the manor, and honestly, I never understood a thing about witchcraft.”

“So we’re trapped.”

“Basically, yes.”

The words sank in as Jules sucked in a deep breath. Blindly tearing down a high-ranked array was akin to courting death, and thus destroying the walls or the door was out of the question. It was infuriating, but all they could do was move forward and play along with whatever sick play awaited them.

—And pray they wouldn’t end up as hunting trophies.

***

The door that separated the entrance hall from the first room was a tall double door made of dark-red wood, carved with intricate flowers and herons facing each other.

Since their arrival, the birds’ wooden eyes had been following the girls wherever they went, just like beasts waiting to pounce on their prey. But the teenagers didn’t notice it, too engrossed in scrutinizing the limbs.

And once their morbid curiosity was satisfied, they happily skipped to the door, excited to discover what the next room had in store for them. However, before Annabelle could even think of touching the doorknob, Bastien stepped in. With a theatrical bow, he winked:

“Allow me.”

That being said, Bastien opened the door like a gentleman should, discreetly crushing the beasts’ spirits while he was at it. Then, he took the opportunity to sneak in first. It earned him a huff and a kick on the calf, but he pretended not to feel it.

The group thus entered with Bastien at the front and Jules guarding the back.

Inside, what welcomed them was a lavish banquet hall. A vintage chandelier dimly brightened the area, its candles casting an orangish hue over the two large tables flanking each side of the room.  Rotten dishes littered the bright red tablecloths, flies buzzing around, and corpses sat on the decaying chairs.

What caught the eye wasn’t this, though. No, all their attention was drawn to the man standing in the middle of the hall.

He was clad in red robes, his long black hair falling freely on his back. In his arms laid a woman whose motionless body resembled a puppet. Nevertheless, he looked at her with endless affection, gently running his fingers through her brown hair.

Humming, he waltzed to a silent song. He dragged the woman in his twirls, her feet dangling on the bloody floor. His movement was slow and stiff yet graceful, his wide robes fluttering around him.

But the moment unknown footsteps echoed inside the banquet hall, all came to a sudden halt. He dropped the woman in his arms, and she sprawled onto the tiled floor like a rag doll. In her fall, her face turned toward the door, and her blank eyes met Bastien’s.

It was impossible to tell whether she was alive or dead.

“Oh dear guests, have you seen my fiancée?” the man asked in a hoarse voice, tilting his head. “The wedding ceremony is about to start, yet no one has seen her. Where could she be, I wonder?”

He took a step toward them, a stiff smile on his pale lips.

“Still, I have to get married today. But if she doesn’t arrive on time, who shall be my bride?”

As the words left his mouth, his gaze lingered on the teenagers behind Bastien, an ominous light glinting in the depths of his black eyes.

Noticing they had caught the man’s attention, the girls giggled and blushed. Though the banquet hall was gruesome, the groom was handsome, and they’d love to share a dance. This scenario was quite to their liking, to be honest.

But as they were about to open their mouths, Bastien raised a hand and pointed to himself. With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he suggested:

“What about me?”

“You…?”

“Yes, me.”

The groom blinked, seemingly at a loss for words. A man proposing to be his wife was a first.

Hm, would a male bride be alright…?

Whatever the answer was, Bastien didn’t wait for it and walked up to the groom, passing an arm around his lower back to bring him close. As he was a head taller, he had to bend over to shorten the distance between their faces.  

“Oh darling, shouldn’t we seal our union with a kiss?”

Again, Bastien did not wait for an answer and roughly pressed his lips against the groom’s, one arm wrapped around his waist and his free hand firmly gripping the back of his head.