"..I'm nobody's baby now."

Nathaniel slowed his descent down the stairs when he heard music coming from below. Confused by the sound, he paused and listened. The song was thin, hollow in an old-timey way, which was fitting given the song he was hearing was new in 1927.

As he stood there, the downstairs grew gradually brighter. He could hear voices somewhere in the distance as well. It sounded like several adults chatting happily. Curious and more than a little puzzled, the young teen proceeded down the last few steps and was met with an even stranger sight. The whole downstairs had changed. The dust and debris were gone. The broken hall light was whole and hanging from the ceiling where it should be. Everything looked new and well-tended.

It made no sense. Nathaniel began to wonder if he was dreaming, but everything felt too real to be a dream. Touching the wainscoting, he could feel the grain of the wood. He could smell lady's perfume in the air. He could hear dishes clinking somewhere down the hall ahead.

He followed the sound to a wide, open doorway. Peeking in, he saw an ornate ballroom hosting roughly 15 people within its dark paneled walls. They were all socializing and sipping drinks from narrow glasses with long stems. Their clothes were peculiar, anachronistic for the present day. They looked like real clothes, not costumes. Nathaniel couldn't begin to guess where they had found so many old-fashioned garments that looked so good. Or what would motivate them to put them on and gather at this old house. He realized he didn't recognize any of them either. He knew he wasn't acquainted with every adult in New 'Salem, but he got the feeling none of them were from the village.

A well-dressed man with slicked-down black hair and a pencil-thin mustache was talking animatedly with a small group of the menfolk. One of the men with him, a fellow with bushy mutton-chop sideburns, lit up a cigar with an old-fashioned lighter. A cloud of thick blue smoke swirled up from his mouth and nose when he laughed at whatever the dapper man said.

"You shouldn't be here."

Nathaniel was so caught up in the out-of-place scene, he hadn't noticed the young woman come up from behind him. She was so close to him, he bumped into her when he turned at the sound of her voice. He thought she would be cross with him for trespassing, but she just gave a lilting laugh and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He could smell the sweet, musky scent of her perfume on her wrist. It made him dizzy.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. "I—I got lost…"

"Lost?" she laughed. Her laugh sounded funny, but he didn't know why he felt that way. "In your own home? I can't imagine that."

"My..? It's not my home," he stammered, even more confused than before. Why would she think this was his place?

She laughed again. Her lilting laughter contradicted the sad set of her thin, drawn-on eyebrows. Her lips were the color of blood, lips as tiny as a China doll's. Dark hair framed her pale heart-shaped face, set in glossy finger-waves. Her fringed white and gold dress hugged her skinny frame, flowing down to the floor in a cascade of shimmering motion.

"Don't be silly," she said. Then concern clouded her porcelain face. "Do you still have a fever?" She pressed a cool hand to his forehead. "I told Jack we should postpone the party when you took ill the other day. Let's get you some milk and cookies. That will help you relax."

She scooped an arm around his shoulders and urged him away from the door.

The boy let her guide him, trying to puzzle through the situation as they went. His head was swimming, and he wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't dreaming. The idea of milk and cookies was tempting: He hadn't had real cookies in so long, he couldn't remember the last time he tasted one. If this was a dream, he hoped it would last long enough to get the promised snack.

The dark-haired woman led him down a long back hallway lit with the same amber gas lamps Nathaniel saw upstairs. These seemed to be set lower; the light they cast was dimmer and threw darker shadows that danced on the walls where the light didn't reach. When they got to a set of double doors, the lady pushed on the brass plate and the door swung inward. The kitchen was dark on the other side. The boy could see the black-and-white checkered floor where the hall light spilled onto it but nothing more beyond that.

"Where's the light?" Nathaniel asked. He didn't know how the gas lamps worked.

The woman smiled at him and her smile, like her laugh earlier, seemed off. There was a sinister edge to it that chilled him. His interest in the milk and cookies evaporated with that smile. Before he could say as much, the woman used the arm around his shoulders to shove him forcibly into the dark room. He stumbled forward, surprised by such strength in so skinny a woman. He wheeled around on one heel and tried to dart back out, but the door shut before he could reach it.

The room was plunged into blackness.

Starting to panic, Nathaniel rushed forward, hands out. He connected with a solid surface and ran his hands along it. He couldn't find the edges of the door.

"Let me out!" he hollered, trying to sound fierce. "Open up! You can't do this!"

"Hush little baby, don't say a word."

He could hear the woman singing somewhere nearby, out in the hall. He focused on it and tried to use the sound to find the door. All he could feel was solid wall.

"Open the door! My mother knows I'm here! She'll come for me."

He heard the woman's lilting laugh, further away, derisive. Then he heard her fading voice sing a new song: "Above, black ravens wheeling, all of a sudden swooping; my little baby stealing…Sleep, little baby…Sleep."

The dark room got colder. Nathaniel scrabbled against the wall. He knew the door had to be nearby. It just had to be! Nothing was making sense. If this was a dream, he would have woken from fear by now. But he didn't wake. That meant the situation must be real.

He was about to start calling for help when he heard something behind him in the darkness. Something scraping across the floor. Slow and steady. Skrrrritch. Skrrrritch.

"Let me out!" the boy screamed, in full panic.

Down the hall, the dark-haired woman with the blood-red lips heard his cries for help dissolve into incoherent screams of terror that were abruptly silenced.

Just a few more souls and they would be strong enough to challenge Michael and his regime.

…

Author's Note:

This update posts a bit later than intended. My computer crashed hard and I've spent the week struggling to get it up and running again. It's still not back up to 100% functionality, but I did get Word installed. I can write again!

While my computer's been installing all the massive updates and what-not, I've been taking in all kinds of horror to pass the time. Stranger Things (playing right now, in fact), Annabelle Comes Home, Witch, original Twilight Zone reruns, and other retro nightmare fuel. It amused me when Stranger Things tapped American Horror Story for a bit with Sean Astin, who did a good Tate-like "Go away!". I always did like Sean Astin.

Next time: Tate and Violet find out what that mysterious noise is. Meanwhile, Fiona's taking witchcraft back to the books.