Lana breath is swept away by it. Made of cut gray stone, it is like something found in a windswept ghost story. Awestruck, she stares at the roaring gargoyles and the many soaring gothic spires that pierce the purple sky.
Hundreds of windows stare out like glassy dead eyes. Lana thinks one of the windows might have blinked, a flash of yellow iris, before it snapped shut. Someone was watching their arrival.
The coach comes to a stop on the entrance stairs and they climb out. She feels Blake’s hand on her waist as he helps her out.
‘Remember, the mask does not come off, even in the ladies.’
‘OK.’
‘And don’t tell anyone your name.’
‘OK.’
‘Don’t speak unless spoken to.’
‘Right.’
‘I’m serious, Lana.’
She looks up at his masked face. ‘You’re making me nervous, Blake.’
‘It’s important.’
‘Then don’t leave my side.’
‘I’ve no intention of doing that.’
They go up the shallow stone steps. When they reach the top, Lana turns to look down upon the magnificent garden maze. In the purplish light it is very beautiful. At the entrance, a totally expressionless, bone-thin man, dressed in black coat-tails, nods at Blake and slowly waves his hand towards the interior of the house.
There are more ushers and silent staff dressed in black who nod at them and wave them deeper into the interior.
The funereal garments and the silence begin to seep into Lana. She recognizes them to be poisonous.
Finally, two men open a pair of double doors and they enter a large hall full of masked, robed people. There is a stage at one end with a throne on it. The room reminds her of an old-fashioned theater with balconies, where people are standing and talking in whispers. There are also many doors that lead away from the hall. A strange throbbing music is playing into that odd air of expectancy and waiting.
Lana looks up at Blake. ‘This reminds me of Eyes Wide Shut.’
‘Yes, Stanley Kubrick’s movies are filled with hidden messages.’
A waiter brings a tray. Blake shakes his head. When Lana tries to reach for a glass, she feels the subtle pressure that he exerts on her hand. She shakes her head. It is at this point that Lana realizes that there are other women besides her who are wearing the exact same mask as her.
‘Hello,’ a man’s voice addresses them from behind.
They turn. A stocky man in an odd grey and silver mask is standing about a foot away from them. ‘You brought…someone,’ he says, his eyes glittering blackly through the eyeholes of his mask. Lana feels Blake tense.
‘Yes.’
‘Will you be going into the main room?’ the man asks.
‘Of course,’ Blake says smoothly, but Lana feels the tremor that goes through his body.
‘Good, I will see you there. If I don’t, tell your father I send my regards.’
Blake nods, and the man turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd of robes and masks.
‘Come,’ Blake says, and leads her towards the entrance.
The large doors open, and they retrace their steps out into the evening air. They go down the shallow steps and into a waiting coach.
When she turns to Blake, he puts a finger to his lips.
The coach drops them off outside the lodge house, they traverse that strange empty room, and go back out to where the hired car is waiting. Blake unlocks the car.
‘Take your cloak off and drop it on the ground,’ he orders as he takes his own cloak off and chucks it into the back seat.
She does as she is told and gets into the car. Her hands are trembling. Blake’s fear and tension have transferred themselves to her.
Blake starts the engine and the car screeches away. He says nothing and drives very fast.
‘Chuck the mask out of the window,’ he says when he has been driving for about five minutes. He takes his mask off and flips it onto the back seat where it lands on his black cloak.
‘Why did I have to throw mine away but not you?’
‘Yours is generic; my cloak has my family insignia sewn into it and my mask is distinct to me.’
Ten minutes later, Blake pulls off the road and, turning around, takes her into his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t have taken you there. I don’t know what I was thinking of. You’re just a baby.’
‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘Nothing happened.’
He looks into her eyes. He is ful of secrets. ‘Yes, nothing happened.’
That night he jerks awake in a cold sweat. He sits upright. The movement wakes her. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’ she asks, her hand reaching for his back.
‘I dreamed I took you into the main room,’ he says. His voice is hoarse with horror.