3 bar menu

Night of Phantasmagoria

—wiretap radio 1—

Bzzt, bzzzzt.

Crackle.

Beeeeep.

“He’s here.”

“I see.”

Crackle.

Beep.

“One spy.”

“Only one, huh?”

“Eliminate?”

“Of course.”

“Roger that.”

“The spy will die inside the box.”

---

Chapter 2: Night of Phantasmagoria

The Old Masquerade arrived at its last stop, Beelzebub’s Skull, halting at the sole, crude platform near the dark sea. Between the sea and the station platform stood a huge sluice gate, which was supposed to be closed at high tide, and a high stone wall.

Countless white bubbles were floating in the purple, evening Baltic Sea, slowly coming and retreating with the waves. Coming and retreating. The sound of the crashing waves rolled all the way to the passengers disembarking at the platform. The conductor announced that the train would return at the end of the soiree.

An early full moon was hanging large and white in the darkening sky.

Kazuya alighted on the platform with his huge suitcase, his eyes fixed on Beelzebub’s Skull, which loomed in the distance, far beyond the sandy beach.

The blackened sandy beach stretched for quite some distance. At the end of it stood what seemed like a huge rock, craggy and shadowy like darkness itself, a sinister island that appeared after the tide had receded, devoid of trees or life.

“They say the light of the moon can make a man go mad,” said the old man walking beside him.

“Yeah…”

“Quite an eerie full moon tonight, isn’t it, oriental?” He followed Kazuya’s gaze, to the huge chunk of rock. “Ah, that’s the monastery. Beelzebub’s Skull.”

“Really? It looks like an island made of rock.”

“Once we get closer, you’ll see that it’s man-made. And you’ll also learn why it was named after Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies.”

Kazuya followed the old man, dragging the suitcase behind him.

Simon Hunt and Friar Iago were walking toward the monastery with their respective luggage, circling around to the left side of the monastery. As they drew nearer, the rocky mass towered high in the evening sky, and the air around them began to feel heavy.

Kazuya gasped.

“Do you see that, oriental boy?”

“Yes.”

As the angle changed, Kazuya saw what looked like compound eyes of a giant insect on both sides. Indeed, the huge rock resembled the head of a fly. It was as though the ominous Lord of the Flies appeared in the purple evening sky, smiling down on them.

“What a place.”

Kazuya bit his lip. His grip on the suitcase tightened.

“It feels strange knowing that this is where my daughter lives,” the old man murmured.

Kazuya did not say anything. He just continued walking with his head low.

He could hear the waves crashing in the distance.

Victorique’s all alone here…

His pace quickened.

“What’s the matter?” the old man asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, continuing on his way.

The entrance to the monastery came into view. Guests who had arrived on the previous trip clustered beyond the monastery’s stone gate. Between the gate and the monastery was a spacious front yard with plenty of chairs for the guests. It was already filled with well-dressed men, women, and rowdy children.

Kazuya showed his invitation at the gate. A nun dressed in heavy black clothes took it. He could vaguely hear the old man asking one of the nuns about her daughter, but it was drowned out by the skittish voices of the guests rolling from the yard.

“I’m here to see a friend,” Kazuya told a nun. “A girl named Victorique, daughter of Marquis Albert de Blois.”

“…”

The nun did not answer.

“Excuse me…”

“…”

“You can hear me, can’t you? Hello?”

“…”

When there was still no reply, Kazuya looked closer and saw a surprisingly young and cherubic face, seemingly not much older than Kazuya’s. Dressed in all black, her expression remained unchanged. She was quiet, as though she did not hear Kazuya.

“Mademoiselle?”

“…”

The nun gave a small shake of her head, then shoved the stamped invitation back to Kazuya. The next guest pushed Kazuya from behind. Reluctantly he proceeded to the front yard with his suitcase.

A gong sounded.

Someone squealed.

Children ran around.

Pretty girls in tight-fitting outfits that emphasized the contours of their bodies were walking around, talking about the soiree. The colorful flowers in their hair swayed in the cool evening breeze.

In the distance, two files of tall nuns marched into the darkness of the monastery.

The gong sounded again.

A clown began playing the organ merrily. The sinister laughter of some demonic being reverberated from somewhere.

It was a very strange place.

Kazuya looked around.

Victorique…

He weaved his way through the crowd.

Victorique!

He continued onward.

I want to see her.

For some reason, his heart ached badly as the thought filled his chest. His desire to see her resembled sadness. It almost crushed him. He recalled Victorique’s rosy cheeks, so full of life, and what Inspector Blois told him before he left.

“She doesn’t eat…”

“Doesn’t read…”

“Just gets weaker and weaker.”

“If this goes on, a tiny breeze might be enough to extinguish the remaining embers of her life.”

Tears of sadness and anger filled Kazuya’s jet-black eyes.

Victorique… My Victorique…

He walked. Swiftly.

He staggered as he pushed through the crowd.

Suddenly someone grabbed Kazuya’s shoulder firmly. Thinking they were helping him, he almost blurted a word of thanks, when the person whispered in Kazuya’s ear.

“The furthest room.”

“What?”

“The room at the end of the spiral labyrinth, where the king died from the plague.”

“Uh…”

Kazuya turned, but his vision was blocked by a feather ornament on a large lady’s hat. Whoever grabbed Kazuya’s shoulder and whispered to him was no longer in sight. In the distance, Kazuya thought he spotted a red, flaming hair.

“Brian?”

Kazuya tried to follow him, but a group of clowns blocked his path. Eventually, he lost sight of the back of the red-haired man. Kazuya gave up and turned back around.

“Was that Brian just now? Maybe he really was on that train. What did he mean by the furthest room?

Squeezing through the crowd, Kazuya made his way to the monastery, to the eerie round building in the shape of a fly’s head.

---

Beelzebub’s Skull was a bizarre building with endless spiral corridors. Dim lamps hung on either side of the dark hallways, and the smell of burning tallow filled the air.

There were numerous small square rooms on both sides of the corridors, from which sinister-looking nuns in all black came out and then disappeared into another room. Kazuya glimpsed young faces, as young as him or perhaps a little older. The black-robed nuns did not speak; they simply walked past, expressionless, like mass-produced dolls.

Dragging his suitcase, Kazuya plodded along the darkly-lit corridor, which wound around in a slight slope.

Victorique…

The corridor stretched on forever. The dark, winding labyrinth became even darker, narrower, and the incline steeper. Although he was going up, Kazuya felt a sense of sadness and fear as if he was descending deeper into the labyrinth. The air felt thinner. The lamps on the walls were closer now, and his face was burning from the scorching heat. Flames flickered despite the absence of wind. One lamp died.

A draft howled in from somewhere.

Feels just like St. Marguerite’s Grand Library, Kazuya thought. I keep going up and up and up the maze, but I can’t get to her. Yet I still keep going. Because I know that you’ll always be at the top waiting for me. You don’t say it, but I believe you want to see me too. I feel like we’re really getting closer.

He walked and walked, pulling on the suitcase.

Victorique…

It was getting even darker.

Victorique.

Images of frills, laces, and scattered candies flashed through Kazuya’s mind. Green, intelligent eyes gleaming coldly. Striking golden hair that hung down to the floor. Her distinctive dark glow. The mysterious aura that always captivated him.

A little Gray Wolf, and her Wellspring of Wisdom. Victorique de Blois, hiding a formidable mind that gathered fragments of chaos, reconstructed them, and subsequently verbalized them.

Soft frills and wavy laces.

Victorique…

The hints of frills gradually intensified. He could sense breathing in the depths of the labyrinth. Kazuya was the only one who could tell. The dress inside the huge suitcase flailed about. It wanted him to find its tiny, fearsome master quickly.

The presence grew stronger.

Victorique…

Find it.

Find the frills.

At the far end of the labyrinth was a room, its wooden door so small that even Kazuya, a small boy, had to bend down to get through it. Inside, a small, round shape stirred.

Kazuya stopped.

He smiled softly.

Gently, he lowered the suitcase to the floor.