Now

The children saw their chance.

The cheese course lay in ruins on the endless table. The parents were too tipsy or sleepy, too busy arguing or laughing or singing, too distracted loosening belts and popping buttons to demand patience, send sharp looks, or worry about offending the great house’s new owner (whoever she was, wherever she was). It was the first time any of the guests had been inside the great house, or attended such an elaborate banquet.

A child whispered, “Let’s play.”

The whisper traveled the huge room, maneuvered the ruckus to touch each small ear. The children lifted their heads from folded arms, pushed their chairs back, crawled from under the table, drifted back from private conversations by the sideboard, the potted tree, the suit of armor.

“Ready, set…” another child began, and they completed the spell: “Go.”

They ran through the doorways while the smallest child counted. Finally, he dashed into the hall, pounded up and down stairs, careened around corners—until he heard a giggle. He opened a closet door, and found another child sitting beneath the lowest shelf, fingers laced around folded knees, a baby-tooth grin beneath the hem of a white sheet.

“Enthrall!” the smallest child shouted, and she leapt up to join the game.

They—we—found another in the movie theater, curled up on the last crimson plush seat. “Enthrall!” we cried. Three of us now.

We found another in the bowling alley, beneath a pile of shoes.

We found another in the gym, hanging from a bar, and another in the sauna, slick with sweat. (Why had he turned it on, what if we hadn’t found him so swiftly?)

Enthrall, enthrall, enthrall! Each joined the pack, and we hunted together.

We found another in the parlor, cribbing names from the address book, ink smeared beneath their sleeves—our family names, perhaps, unreadable now, dissolved by a heart-beat’s heat.

We found another in the nursery, rocking back and forth, rocking and rocking and rocking, and when we burst in, she hissed, “Don’t wake the baby!” though the cradle lay empty.

We found another in the butler’s pantry, where pies leaked scarlet jewels of fruit. It was so late, and they had yet to serve dessert.

We kept playing.

We found another in the wine cellar, his arm deep in a cabinet slot. “Look what I found!” he said, and slowly, slowly withdrew his arm—we turned away, all but one of us, who screamed at the sight.

We found another in the library, behind a tapestry, a swelling in a horse’s embroidered belly; we found another when a shoe fell into the cold hearth. We yanked them from the chimney, and their black mouth shaped, Thank you, Thank you.

We found another in the ballroom, twirling slowly beneath the chandelier, and one by one, we began to spin, too, all of us, until a laugh beyond the wall—were we adjacent to the banquet hall?—roused us, and we hunted again.

We found another in a bed chamber.

We found another in another bed chamber.

We found still another in still another bed chamber.

We found another in a private dressing room, her ear to the wall. “I can hear all her secrets!” she announced, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

We found another in the larder, clinging to a hanging ham. They dropped to the floor, shiny with fat.

We found another in the chapel, but they wouldn’t rise from their knees, unfold their hands, open their eyes, no matter how many times we cried: Enthrall! Enthrall! Enthrall!

We found another in the minstrel gallery above the banquet hall. They pointed over the railing, their eyes wide and lips clenched, but we had no time to look at what the great feast had become. The adults’ moans and curses did not enthrall us like the game.

We found another in the armory, sharpening a sword.

We found another in the guard tower, their eye at the stone slit.

We found another in the vaulted undercroft, where the owner stored her statues. We didn’t know she had so many statues, lined up in neat rows that extended as far as we could see.

We found another on the balcony, and he showed us how to join hands, climb backs, grip each other’s ankles. He told us each when to let go.

Then we were in the garden.

We found another under a rose bush, and they gave us each a thorn for our left eyes.

We found another in the stable, and they hammered silver into our feet.

We found another in the pond, shivering and blue, and they baptized us.

We looked up, with our right eyes: the moon was full and heavy. We looked behind us, to our right, to our left. But in every direction, there was no mansion, no manor, no castle.

We walked forward on heavy, shining feet. Our hunger had returned. We hoped the hunt would last forever.

__________

Stephanie Feldman is the author of the novels Saturnalia, a Locus Award Finalist, and The Angel of Losses, a Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers selection, winner of the Crawford Fantasy Award, and finalist for the Mythopoeic Award. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Asimov’s Science Fiction, Catapult Magazine, Flash Fiction Online, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Weird Horror, and more. Her first story collection, The Night Parade and Other Stories, is forthcoming in October 2026.