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The Fell Sisters’ Cabinet – Part 02

A middle-aged man, escorted by a group of nuns, stepped onto a round stage built in the middle of the yard. Wrapped in a black robe, the man introduced himself as the abbot of Beelzebub’s Skull.

“Welcome to our soiree!” his low voice reverberated through the night sky.

The crowd swallowed.

Victorique slowly stood up. Kazuya also rose to his feet, dusting off Victorique’s dress. Victorique wriggled in annoyance. Kazuya wiped himself next.

“Special guests who have come from all over the continent for this evening’s banquet,” the abbot continued. “Are you aware of the existence of mystical powers? In the distant past, ancient power thrived in this continent. The land of Europe was overflowing with magic, and we treated it as a part of our lives. But…” He paused and cast a sweeping glance at the audience. “What about now? Trains run on coal, airships hover in the skies, and radio waves allow us to hear people from far away. Don’t get me wrong. These are great advancements. But aren’t we forgetting an important power?”

The night wind howled.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain was coming.

“I’m talking about magic! Behold!”

Several pale skeletons appeared around the abbot and began dancing. The audience stirred. The abbot pulled a saber from his side and took a swing.

The invisible threads controlling the skeletons were cut, and they clattered onto the floor.

“This is nothing but a trick!” the abbot roared. “All the shows you are so mesmerized with are nothing but sleight of hand. We will show you real ancient sorcery, here in Beelzebub’s Skull, a place imbued with incredible magical power. Chosen guests. Come, to the Night of Phantasmagoria!”

Dancers, their costumes flapping in the wind as they pranced about, lit the torches sitting on the ceramic bowls placed all over the venue. Numerous wisps of white smoke rose, and illusions began to appear.

A screaming woman.

A reaper clad in black.

A mirage of a woman, well known to Europeans, also appeared. A frail lady with a sorrowful visage, dressed in a simple, bright-blue dress. She was clutching a dazzling blue rose, her head slightly inclined to the side, wearing a frightened expression. Young and beautiful—the previous queen of Sauville. An eternally young girl who loved magic and the occult. Known as the Blue Rose of Sauville, she unfortunately passed away during the Great War.

The queen’s face twisted with the swirling smoke. The ghost of the past opened its lips to say something. The smoke rippled in the wind. Watching the ghost of the famous beautiful queen, the women in the audience began screaming one after another.

“Looks like a movie,” Kazuya whispered. “I’m guessing the smoke serves as the screen.”

He glanced to his side and found Victorique trying her best to stretch herself taller. She was too small to see up front.

A boy wearing an Indian costume stepped forward. He planted a seed in the ground, which quickly grew into a vine that reached all the way into the night sky. Barefoot, the boy climbed up the vine and disappeared into the dark heavens.

The boy’s head fell to the ground and bounced, startling the audience. A young woman shrieked and fainted. Laughter erupted. Gongs sounded. The boy emerged from the audience, picked up his head, bowed, and quickly disappeared.

Kazuya glanced at Victorique. She was still tip-toeing. Kazuya stood in front of Victorique, wrapped his arms under her armpits, and lifted her up.

She was light. It was as if there was only one kitten inside the frilly dress.

Victorique flapped her legs in protest. When Kazuya set her down on the suitcase, Victorique’s cold, expressionless face twitched slightly.

“…”

“Can you see now?”

“…Yes,” Victorique replied, turning her face away.

Kazuya smiled and turned his attention back to the stage.

A beautiful, mild-looking woman stepped forward and lay down on a bed as the abbot requested. She closed her eyes. After an incantation, her body slowly lifted off the bed. The hem of her dress hung down. The woman was in a deep slumber, showing no sign of awakening. Eventually, she landed back on the bed softly.

A huge ball of fire emerged from the abbot’s hands and vanished into the night sky.

The organ resounded.

Another beautiful woman appeared. She bowed, then pulled out a pistol from somewhere, loaded it, and handed it to a young man in the audience. He shook his head in horror.

The woman repeatedly urged him to shoot. When the man refused, his companion snatched the pistol.

Gongs drummed.

Thunder boomed.

The man with the pistol aimed at the woman and pulled the trigger. The audience screamed.

Bang!

Silence.

The woman was smiling. The audience gasped when they saw what was in her mouth.

She was biting a bullet between her white teeth. It fell from her sensually-parted red lips and onto the stage. The woman bowed and stepped back.

The audience clapped.

“Next up: The Fell Sisters’ Cabinet!” the abbot bellowed.

Another round of applause. A long, old cabinet that could fit several people was brought in.

“What’s next?” Kazuya murmured.

Atop the suitcase, Victorique tilted her neck like a sleepy bird.

Two old nuns stepped in front. The crowd fell silent. The nuns looked remarkably alike. One had her snow-white hair hanging down her back while the other had it braided high on her head like a decorated cake. Their wrinkled faces were pale, and both were of large builds and well-postured for old women. A closer look revealed that the one with her hair flowing down her back had blue eyes, while the other had jet-black ones.

With trembling, wrinkled hands, the old women removed their black robes, revealing long, ascetic dresses, as white as their hair, that concealed their necks and legs. The designs of their costumes were slightly different: the one with the hair down had a round collar and tight sleeves, while the one with the braid had a square collar and round sleeves.

The old women bowed, and then, with eyes as dark-blue as the bottom of the ocean, as black as darkness, they stared at the spectators.

“I’m the older sister, Carmilla,” said the one with the untied hair in a husky voice.

“And I’m the younger sister, Morella,” said the braided one.

“The Fell sisters Carmilla and Morella are the final descendants of an ancient bloodline known around these parts as possessing magical abilities,” the abbot said. “They are authentic wielders of an Old Power. We will be showing you the mysterious Fell Sisters’ Cabinet. Behold!” he roared.

The sisters held hands and skipped toward the cabinet. They opened the double sliding door, revealing two chairs facing each other inside. As they sat down, the abbot produced a straw rope and tied their wrinkled wrists tightly together.

He then slammed the door shut.

A moment later, he opened the door.

A collective gasp came from the audience.

In just one moment, the sisters had switched places, despite being in a box that offered no space to move. Carmilla, who should have been on the right, was on the left side, and Morella, who should have been on the left, was on the right. The two slowly turned their heads toward the audience in a motion reminiscent of dolls. Simultaneously their lips—coated with bright red lipstick unsuited for old women—curled up into grins.

The audience stirred.

The abbot shouted once more and slammed the door shut, before opening it again. Every time he closed and opened the door, the two would switch places. A while later, the abbot tossed a trumpet, flute, and other musical instruments into the cabinet, and after the door was closed, the instruments started sounding from the inside. But when he opened it, the two women were still unable to move, their wrists tied tightly.

“Frauds!” a member of the audience yelled.

Kazuya turned around. It was a young man in a suit—Simon Hunt. He pushed past the crowd and walked onto the stage, pointing at the two elderly women.

“They’re untying the rope inside,” he said. “Magic? Yeah, right. It’s all just a trick. Ancient power, my ass!”

“If that’s what you think,” Carmilla murmured.

Simon Hunt turned his attention to the cabinet.

The sisters looked into each other’s eyes.

“If that’s what you think,” Carmilla repeated.

“You…” Morella said.

“…may come in too,” Carmilla continued.

“If you do…”

“…you’ll understand.”

“What happens inside…”

“…is something that science can’t explain.”

“Blessed by a mysterious force.”

“Such power.”

“Does not exist in the New World.”

“Only on the old continent.”

“This power that’s slowly disappearing…”

“Our ancient powers…”

“Will get you.”

“And you will be judged.”

“Come,” Morella beckoned.

“Enter,” Carmilla added.

“Young man.”

“If you’re just a normal spectator with nothing to hide…”

Their blue and black eyes widened.

“Then you have nothing to fear!”

Simon Hunt sniffed audibly. He approached the cabinet, his leather shoes clacking along the floor.

He fixed the collar of his suit and stroked his combed, short hair.

“I-I don’t have anything to hide,” he said. “I came here with an invitation. And I’m not scared of this farce.”

“Um, well…”

The abbott took the sisters out of the cabinet. He untied the straw rope that bound their wrists, then sat the younger sister Morella and Simon Hunt down inside. He tied the young man’s rugged wrists together with the old woman’s wrinkled wrists.

Carmilla grinned.

The abbot then took the flashy saber he used earlier and placed it gently on their wrists. Simon’s face stiffened a little.

“If the saber hasn’t fallen on the floor,” Carmilla said, “it will serve as proof that the rope has not been untied.

“I suppose,” Simon said.

“Goodbye, young man,” Carmilla mumbled, and shut the door together with the abbot.

Soon after, a man’s ghastly scream came from inside the cabinet. The abbot jumped. Carmilla’s shoulders jerked.

They exchanged puzzled glances.

The scream lasted a while. Then it became fainter and piercing. The audience stared petrified at the stage, wondering what was going on.

No one wanted to interrupt the show.

Kazuya came to his senses and dashed toward the stage. Friar Iago too approached the stage, murmuring a prayer. Before Kazuya could open the door, the abbot stopped him. Friar Iago arrived on stage a second later, asking the door to be opened. The abbot looked at the cabinet, confused.

Crimson blood trickled down through the crack under the door.

Some of the audience were cheering, assuming it was all part of the show, while others were yelping in horror. Then came the faint scream of an old woman from inside. Carmilla instantly jumped to the cabinet.

“Morella? Morella!” she called in a husky voice. Gone was her theatrical manner of speaking. “What’s wrong? Your sister’s here! Morella!”

There was no reply.

The feeble scream continued.

Carmilla reached for the cabinet door with her wrinkly hand, but it was too heavy. Kazuya lent a hand, and together, they managed to pry it open.

Inside the cabinet was a pool of blood.

It looked as if a bucket of blood was dumped inside. The smell of iron wafted from within. On the right chair sat an old woman, covered in blood, her dark black eyes wide as she continued screaming. Her white dress was stained crimson. Blood marred her braided hair and her wrinkly, pale skin.

In the chair to the left sat Simon Hunt, quiet.

Eyes wide with horror. Lips frozen in a scream. A face contorted in agony.

Blood dripped from his suit.

Simon Hunt’s corpse and the bloody Morella were still bound with the straw rope. As for the flashy saber that should have been on top of their wrists…

…it was embedded deeply into Simon Hunt’s chest.

Women in the audience fainted one by one. For the first time tonight, the dancers let out genuine screams of horror.

Carmilla called her sister’s name in a trembling voice.

Morella took a deep breath. “Sister!” she gasped in a childlike voice.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed outside the cabinet, unconscious.

Pulled by Morella’s scrawny body, Simon Hunt’s corpse also tumbled out of the cabinet, rolling onto the pool of blood.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.