A Feast

Winslet watched through the tinted windows to see Sophia having a delightful conversation with Virgil that seemed to put a smile on her face like no other.

Finally reaching a point that seemed good to call it, she finally got in, taking a seat.

“That looked like fun,” Winslet remarked.

“Oh, ah—terribly sorry, Madam Winters, for keeping you.”

“No, it’s alright… You’re in love, after all.”

Flustered, Sophia gazed out into the distance, struggling to find the right words. Was it that obvious? She noticed her cheeks were flushed as she fidgeted in her seat, searching for the words that never seemed to surface.

Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Winslet stepped in. “Just remember to keep this under wraps, okay? While I might not care, and neither would Ronnie, I cannot say the same for the rest of the family. You know how they are with outsiders.”

“Hmmm…yes, sorry. And thank you.”

Winslet scoffed, dismissing the words with a sharp exhale of breath.

***

The rest of the journey to the estate passed in silence, broken only by the rhythmic sounds of the vehicle’s wheels.

As they arrived, the staff arranged themselves at attention, ready to receive them. They swiftly unpacked the luggage, tacitly acknowledging the circumstances that had driven Winslet and Sophia from their private townhouse. The memories lingering within those walls had become unbearable, prompting Ronnie’s decisive suggestion that they both take residence at the family estate. His declaration, wielding familial authority, silenced any potential objections.

Once settled, the women made their way to the dining room, a space that breathed the history of the Winters family. Portraits of generations past adorned the walls, their painted eyes watching over the room with silent scrutiny. An opulent chandelier—crafted from cascading diamonds—suspended from the ceiling, casting reflections across the silver and white holiday decor, and transforming the space into a winter wonderland.

A magnificent fireplace anchored one end of the room, its flames dancing and casting warm, flickering light. The crackling of the lumber mingled with the distant sounds of children’s laughter and the murmured conversations of gathered guests. Nearby, a Christmas tree towered over twelve feet tall, adorned with decorations that spoke of family history—each ornament a testament to memories collected across generations.

The table was a lavish display of abundance, laden with an array of culinary delights. Ronnie had seated himself at the head of the table. Winslet, in a deliberate and telling gesture, sat at the foot—a position that riveted Ronnie’s attention. Mid-conversation, his words faltered as he observed her, the significance of her placement hanging in the air between them.

“Winslet, have I offended you?”

“No, Ron, it’s just that you are in a deep conversation with Auntie Antionette. I am sure whatever delightful conversation is being had is as is without my gloomy self to bring it down.”

Pulling his handkerchief from his neck, he cleared his throat, turning to the woman on his right.

“Aunt, will it be all right if Winslet sits there?”

“N-No, not at all,” the woman replied with a sneer. She glanced at the more than vacant seat on Ronnie’s other side. “No need to ask me. You are the head of the family, after all.”

With a humorous grin, Winslet obliged her brother-in-law before giving the other seat to Sophia. This left many around to whisper among themselves. Ronnie paid it no mind as he leaned to grab a glass to fill with wine.

“How was retrieving your belongings?”

“Fine,” Winslet replied. “It was much harder than I thought to step in there.”

“Is that so? I take it that Virgil stayed behind to handle the rest, then?”

“Yes. He is quite young and attentive.”

The two both sneakily side-eyed Sophia, who coughed from her food.

“Anyway…” Winslet continued. “Is there any news from the department about their culprit? Are they planning to just put him away at IronStone and throw away the key, or will they give him the death penalty?”

“The situation seems quite complicated. To begin with, he hasn’t confessed, which has put the police in a tricky spot. There’s no solid evidence since he left no fingerprints behind, and there’s no DNA available from his actions. They can’t even determine if there are any other accomplices involved. All they have are the shaky testimonies from a few brave enough to speak up, while the majority seem too scared to come forward. They have dubbed him the Scarecrow for now.

“Scarecrow?”

“Yes, whatever those individuals experienced over the years really took a toll on them. Granted, some were children when they were taken, so—”

Ronnie bit his lip, catching himself sighing before delivering his words differently. “Apologies, I—”

“It’s fine… Not all the children made it, right?” Winslet said, choking up. Her grip around her knife was ever so tense as she stared blankly at her plate. “I s-suppose, we can say it was a sacrifice that allowed for the opportunity to arrive. They stopped him. That’s all that matters.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Ronnie sighed.

“Of course not! Why, my boy—Luca?! Of all the children that made it and those who didn’t—I just can’t understand…”

“I know…”

Ronnie wasn’t sure what more to say. As he searched, an unexpected voice came to the rescue.

“Winslet…” Antoinette called. The woman was rather tall with a scowl. Her hair, ever so grey, was prim and proper to match the posh attire. Her nose usually sat ever fixed in the air for a gaze that always seemed to look down upon those around her. “I never got a chance, but I am sorry about your Luca and what happened to him.”

“Are you?” Winslet barked. “Weren’t you the biggest speaker about how much Reggie made a mistake? Marrying someone with their head on backwards with their screws loose.”

“Yes,” Antoinette answered unapologetically. “And I still stand by that.”

“Fucking bitch—”

“Tone, Winslet! There are children around.”

Composed yet furious, Winslet’s fingers traced along her knife.

“Relax, you’re still a Winters, I suppose. I couldn’t help but hear, so I felt the need to say, Luca, I feared, would have grown with some screws loose as well. So I am sorry, but I believe God thought of this as mercy.”

A loud thud echoed throughout the acoustic walls as Winslet’s knife slammed into the table.

“Winslet…” Ronnie eased, standing between the two women. “Take a walk, cool off. You know her.”

“Yes, listen to him,” Antionette continued. She was one of the few who dared to stare Winslet in the eye when conversing and openly spoke her feelings towards her without any remorse. “At least it means something since he is the head of the family, unlike the ones in your head.”

“Ron, step aside! I am going to kill her!”

“Winslet,” Ronnie stated firmly. “Don’t.”

He looked over at Gianni, who was picking his nose. Finally catching the stray gaze, he took the hint and walked over.

“Boss…”

“Don’t touch me,” Winslet shot, swatting his hand. “Hmph, I know when I am not wanted! Hmph! God? Mercy? Huh, sleep well, Auntie.”

As she took off, swearing and mumbling in another language, Ronnie began eyeing Antoinette. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips, letting everyone know that his patience was being tested.

***

Night had come, and Winslet was restless. She could not sleep as the events at dinner plagued her mind.

Tossing and turning, she eventually got up. Her loose blouse clung to her body, swished and swayed like a curtain with a moon’s glow as she moved for a candle to light. The halls were shaded, meaning many were already in bed, including the staff.

Concerned about disturbing them, Winslet took to one of the three kitchens within the estate. Though near, it failed to constitute an ideal meal. It was a spacious pantry. As she grabbed some herbs, she took them to make some tea, which she hoped would calm her restless mind from all the thoughts that swelled.

As she sipped, the unfamiliar taste caught in her throat, making her gag.

“Yuck, how can anyone like this?”

Half satisfied, she took what she made with a few snacks and scurried back to her room, where she found someone standing at the end of the hall.

“Sophia,” Winslet called softly so as not to disturb the others who were slumbering.

The poor girl did not respond, not even to the touch of Winslet’s gentle hand.

“Sleepwalking…”

Sophia buckled, her body convulsing on the floor. Winslet dropped everything to rush to the girl’s side. The clatter of the fallen tray and shattering glass brought curious faces to their doorways.

Ronnie was the first to search the hall because of the noise.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know! She was just standing here. Sophia, can you hear me? Look at me!”

Then Sophia shrieked. Her nails were deep red as they clawed at her arms until they bled.

“No, no, no! Sophia, you need to stop!” Without a second thought, Ronnie tried his best to restrain her, only for her to dislocate her shoulder to continue.

“It’s here…” Sophia wailed. It’s heeeeerree!”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Ronnie and Winslet turned to Gianni, only for their gazes to go wide as they stared up at something lurking just past his shoulder, towering over him. A nightmare unfolded, enlivening the dark shadows inhabiting the room’s corners.

“What the—”

Several pairs of hands that seemed to come from the shadow’s void face reached out like teeth, taking his upper half to consume. Screams echoed in the halls, both from those who lived within these walls and from the creature itself.

Waking everyone up, the glossy white eyes that peered out from the depths of an endless abyss snapped toward Winslet to take care of her first. Yanked away by Ronnie, he pulled her to safety from the quickened scuttle-like shuffle.

“Run!” he yelled before being swatted away like a fly. He crashed against the wall before having his arm stomped on like a twig. Its aim looked to be his legs next as a delicious treat when a candlestick clunked against what was best assumed to be its head.

Peering away, several ominous screams bellowing from its depths.

“It’s me you want, yeah?” Winslet shot. She spun on her heels and ran in the other direction, banking the corner to make way for the main foyer. The door before the stairs split, and two white spheres observed from the darkness.

Sliding to a stop, Winslet stumbled. She crawled away on her butt, hugging the hardwood floor.

Others hurried down the hall with submachine guns in their hands loaded with round drums. They fired at the creature, unleashing a torrent of silver bullets that lit up the otherwise dark-cloaked hall.

It swatted them away one by one, tearing limbs from their bodies as they moved closer to claw at their prey.

None offered and proper solution for the chaos that ensued. Not until one stepped forth, Virgil coming with a lighter in one hand and something else in the other. A click sounded, and fire unleashed, lighting up the creature. The sound of a thousand cries wailed out from its endless void as it fell back.

Trying to extinguish the flames on its black fur, it rolled, only to misstep. Its entire being slid down and tumbling down the steps to the main hall, where it continued to burn.

“Are you all right, Lady Winters?” Virgil said, extending a hand. “Shall I call the police?”

“Yes, and make sure he is among them.”

Once the officers arrived, one in particular stood out from the many. He searched and searched, finally being led by Virgil to Winslet.

“What the hell is that?” A flustered Lieutenant Woods posed, taking a gander at the scene.

“It’s probably your Scarecrow fellow.”

“See, you mentioned that on the phone. How can you be so certain? For one, the man is a man, and he is locked up back at headquarters.”

“Give your little headquarters a call. Let me know how that goes.”

Lieutenant Woods took a moment to step to the side. He called it in only to find out that her words were true. The man in custody was currently missing, and the search team was out looking for him.

Clearing his throat, he returned, confused more than ever.

“Alright, Mrs. Winters, what else do ya know? Because I am at a loss for words right now. Is it dead at least?”

“No. Not in the sense of being at its end.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means your witch is not dead.”