Chapter 1: PROLOGUE

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all.

That was the only thought that spiraled in Kiyoko Daichi's head over and over as she stared at the pile of blood that mere moments ago had once been a living human being.

Turning her hands over slowly, her limbs shook as she stared in disbelief at the warm, slick, dark liquid dripping from her hands. Her lips trembled as a strange bubble rolled through her throat, inch by inch crawling to the back of her mouth while her body shook, the lights overhead flickering in protest that she was still sitting there, begging her to run, run, run.

How could so much be lost in a mere second? Just now, there had been hands in hers, familiar, welcoming hands that once held hers when she told the news that she’d gotten into the conservatory too, hands that she sought for reassurance on a bad day. They had been hands she’d memorized after her father died, after her heart's dearest companion had been shipped off to Russia to fight in the war, hands that had been a touchstone of her clearly pathetic, futile life’s existence. Those hands had guided her through so many of life’s storms since their first choir practice together, helped her feel like she wasn't so alone ever since Papa's light had been extinguished.

Those hands, she’d believed, could hold anything.

Now they were reduced to a splatter on the wall, and would hold hers nevermore.

It wasn’t because of the lights flickering in inconsistent warning overhead that it took Kiyoko's mind too long to recognize what had just happened. No, this just shouldn’t even be possible. She’d read those letters right, hadn’t she? She'd figured everything out right didn’t she? 

This couldn’t possibly be... her fault, could it?

Overhead, the lamp continued to flicker, increasing in speed as the air grew thicker than the blood that still dripped from her fingers. The urgency of the flashing light pounded at her senses, screaming and pleading for her to flee, to save herself, all while her mind bleated in protest that this couldn’t be real, no way was Megumi dead.

That was when the rumbling began.

“Why, it seems like this theater eats people,” she’d joked when they’d started their investigation a few months ago. How could she have resisted making such a jest? Always one for dark stories ever since childhood picnics in the attic with her childhood friend, giggling and retelling in excited whispers, she had let her imagination have a little fun that day, a side comment that was meant only to lighten the mood and nothing more. It wasn’t meant to be a real prediction.

And yet, here she was.

The rumbling seemed to roll between the walls, a growling that was unforgiving, unrelenting as it moved along its path closer and closer to where she stood, legs shaking and useless as they refused to budge from their spot. Instead, she fumbled, trying to catch the blood now spilling from her hands onto the floor, seeping into the wooden floorboards and soaking into its new home. A home that was not the flesh and bone of the body that was now…

Kiyoko bit back a sob.

The ashes of broken dreams made her choke on vows that she’d bitterly, naively shattered. The only true friend she'd had ever since he left would never leave this place. The mysteries had haunted them both, plagued in their nightmares and spoken in hushed tones. She'd promised they’d leave together, but her dear friend…

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The rumbling grew closer. Closer.

Guilt demanded Kiyoko stay in that room, that she atone for her mistakes and become the next victim. No one was supposed to be in that room, after all. Hadn't the “ghost” warned them all repeatedly in his notes? Hadn’t that eerie “phantom” given plenty of instructions in his musical scores that had fluttered to the stage floor in a hastily written script that barely contained what little humanity the specter had left? 

Her blood deserved to run far more than anyone else's ever had. 

But if Kiyoko remained, the mystery would never be solved, and surely only more death would come. So many had entered this auditorium, eager and curious for this mysterious genius’ marvelously composed works, but few had traveled so far below, seeking to unravel that which seemed to be interwoven between this world and another, binding and revealing yet hiding, penetrating and releasing. Those who dared to seek the world below had been looking for a thrill, perhaps following a dare their friend made while drunk or just goofing around. 

They didn’t know just how cursed this place really was.

But she did.

They both did.

And now…

The floorboards shattered beneath her feet as she jumped away, sobbing, clutching at the wall while splinters soared through the air, some piercing her skin as she finally ran, feet slipping on the stairs as she sought to leave what was clearly hell itself. Her lungs burned as her limbs seemed to move on their own, tears pouring down her face while agonized cries of, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” finally burst from the bubble that had crawled up her throat to scream in absolute terror. Shadows moved, danced, mocking her in the shapes of her failure, blood still dripping from her hands to decorate her in defeat.

It was only when the theater was behind her, doors slamming shut as the rumbling shook the walls and disturbed the foundation of that cursed building that she finally stopped moving, collapsing on the ground in a heap of regret and destruction. Slamming her fists on the ground, Kiyoko grit her teeth, shaking, watching bitterly as her tears fell on those clenched hands, the blood starting to wash away with her sobs.

Even if the blood was gone, she would forever wear those stains.

Over her shoulder, the howling tore through the air, mockingly, the light of the moon pouring down to illuminate the hellish scene that was now creeping into reality.

She had lost.

 

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