Chapter 1:

            Dahlia was walking along during a fine day through the forest near her house. She liked to explore the forest any chance she got. Because her house and the small town near it were surrounded by a large wood, she had many chances to do just that. Dahlia was walking on the path, happily gazing up at the leafy treetops above her, when suddenly, she had fallen face down in the moldy leaves that covered the forest floor. She picked herself up and looked to see what she had tripped over. A cellar door, half covered in gray-green vines poked out of the ground. She hadn’t seen anything like it in the area, and one didn’t normally find two ancient-looking wooden doors into the ground. Especially not in the middle of Sanguine Dell.

Although many trails wound through its trees, this area of the woods had been sparsely inhabited for the past few decades. The thick forest enchanted Dahlia; There was something about the way the sun shone through the leaves during late afternoons. That was exactly why she loved walking through Sanguine Dell at this time of day. However, she had strayed from the main trail this afternoon because she had her camera with her and wanted to take some unique pictures. As an amateur photographer fresh out of high school, she had decided to take a year to herself to help refine her skills before moving on to college.

Dahlia had decided to take up residence in Foalshaw, a quiet town amid thick forests. It was not the largest place, but Dahlia had always admired it for both its hospitality and amazing photography opportunities. Her knowledge of the surrounding forest gave Dahlia ideas she wouldn’t have in a more unfamiliar location. Dahlia’s family owned a cabin near Sanguine Dell and she thought it would be the best and cheapest option for her gap year. After this, she would head to the college of her dreams, the Bayshore Academy of Fine Arts.

Back to this particular day in this particular part of the woods… Dahlia brushed dust off of the strange doors. They were quite large, and looked heavy, but Dahlia had no intentions of opening them. At least, not yet. After removing some of the dirt and wiry moss from the doors, Dahlia noticed something rather peculiar.

A large silver plaque was sat set into the dark wood. From it, equally thick silver bars spread out to cover the doors. They crisscrossed them in a manner that suggested they meant to prevent whatever was under them from getting out. On the large square of silver metal, a couple of sentences were cut into it. After pulling away the last bits of strange moss, Dahlia could almost read the small words.

For the love of all things good and holy, dear god do not open these doors.

Below the ominous text, a date, name, and string of symbols followed. One would typically be deterred from opening such doors if such a message was placed upon it. However, Dahlia could not read such a message, as the greater part of the letters had been weathered away due likely to many years of subjection to the elements. Thus, Dahlia only read a few garbled letters and a name, half a date, and a handful of possibly occult symbols. She squinted one last time at the corroded message and took a quick photo of the silver plate. She shrugged and proceeded to kick the cellar. Nothing.

Dahlia was hardly stunned by the strangeness of the doors. Apparently, she should have aspired to a more adventurous hobby, as her bravery (or possibly her ignorance) drove her to explore this door in the woods. She knocked on the top of it and continued to stare. Just as suddenly as she had tripped over the doors, a voice clad in an English accent called out to her from beneath the dark wood. “Hello?”

This voice startled Dahlia and she toppled backwards onto the dry leaves.

“Hello?” the voice called a second time. This was when Dahlia noticed something off-putting about the otherwise “normal” voice. It echoed in a wobbly way, almost as though calling out from under water.

“Um, hi,” Dahlia feebly replied, offering a slight wave towards the doors. She returned her hand to her side when she realized the owner of the voice couldn’t see her.

“Oh, good afternoon kind sir. May I burden you with the request that you fetch your manservant? We will need quite the manpower to pry open these doors.”

Although Dahlia hadn’t been able to read the full message, she had seen something close to “Do not” and another word that looked quite a bit like “open”. Besides, one should not need specific instructions to not pull open a set of doors with large silver bars laid over them. “I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t,” Dahlia quietly responded. She had reflected further on the request, and replied, louder this time, “I’m also not a sir.”

“Oh, my apologies miss, may you find your husband then? Even if you are a bricky girl, we will require additional muscle in order to open these doors.”

The voice spoke in antiquated terms most modern-day individuals have not used in their lives. What was more, the misogynistic, patronizing tone this voice spoke in toward Dahlia was more than annoying.

“I’m by myself,” she replied, choosing to take a much calmer tone that many might. “And why does the door say something like “Don’t open?’” The voice’s outdated way of speaking also prompted her to say, “And how long have you been down there?”

“Damfino,” the voice, who Dahlia was almost certain belonged to a man, casually called back. “I’ve been captive down here so long, I’ve forgotten to keep track. Now open the doors, and I’ll treat you to quite the benjo. A church-bell such as yourself may enjoy batty-fanging a few enemies. Now make it snappy. I’d like to be out of here by supper.”

Another voice followed the man’s that echoed just as the first had. “Yes girly, you should listen to Bernard. He and I shouldn’t even be here. Afternoonified men such as ourselves should be free.” After a third voice chimed in, Dahlia decided to let them talk without interruption.

“Hey Cassius, I deserve to get out too. I know you think you people are radical and whatever, but I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I’d like to motor out of here just like you, so you better help me too.”

Dahlia was a reasonable person, excluding a somewhat significant amount of her current and future decisions. She asked, “Can one of you explain why the three of you are down there?”

“What’s your damage?” The third voice replied with a hint of frustration, “Can’t you just let some homies out of this hole?” Although the three voices were strange, Dahlia couldn’t see why she shouldn’t let them out. Perhaps she wasn’t so reasonable after all. Regardless of whether or not she wanted to free them, Dahlia couldn’t see how she would be able to. The large silver bars were set thick into the wood, and she had no hope of bending them.

“How should I open it anyway?” Dahlia asked to all three of the voices below the set of doors.

“Oh, you don’t have to do much. Besides, this is the only way out. We can’t back slang it. Just find a large rock and scrape off those symbols,” the second voice, the one who Dahlia thought was named Cassius, responded. Dahlia turned around to survey the clearing for a large rock. She kicked around in the dry leaves for one. This was not the best course of action, and she soon stubbed the toes on her left foot. Dahlia picked up the large stone she had kicked; It was half covered in mud and the same silver moss that almost completely encased the large cellar doors. She brushed it off with one gloved hand and walked over to the door where the voices came from. “Which words do I scrape off?” Dahlia asked to no voice in particular.

“Just scratch off the small symbols at the bottom of the plate. Make sure you get all of them,” the one who seemed to be in charge, Bernard, replied. After a final glance at the unreadable message, Dahlia began to do what the two had instructed. This took a considerable amount of effort and time, but once she had a small dent in the metal, the work became somewhat easier. She finally managed scraped off the last of the small characters.

Around the exact second Dahlia scratched off the last letter, the large chestnut oak doors swung wide. The plate seemed to only be attached to one of the doors, and Dahlia briefly wondered what had stopped them from opening them before. She had little time to ponder this. Dahlia looked down into the large hole and straight into the eyes of what she had just unleashed upon the world. The tall man who was climbing out stared back at her with slate-grey eyes that had quite the way of boring into their beholder’s soul. “Why thank you miss,” Bernard said to his rescuer, and promptly made his way up the remaining stone steps and out into the light of day. He pushed his neatly styled dark hair out of his eyes and grinned up towards the trees. He brushed an invisible spec of dirt off the shoulder of his deep blue tailcoat and turned around to watch his two companions clamber up after him. Dahlia scanned his outfit, surprised at the cleanliness of it. The gold trim sparkled in the afternoon sun. Bernard seemed to be never one to skimp on style.

The man that followed Bernard wore an outfit of equal elegance. His crisp, blood red tailcoat was almost identical to Bernard’s, save the silver trim that lined it. Cassius bowed and kissed Dahlia’s hand. He was quite the gentleman now that he was free. However, when Dahlia pulled away in surprise, he remarked, “A woman of your grace and elegance should partake in such formalities.” He marched past her, laid a hand on Bernard’s shoulder, and grinned up at the treetops alongside him. Cassius pulled out black tinted spectacles and slid them on, his light hair blowing slightly in the breeze. It was cut short and almost as immaculate as Bernard’s. Then the third man, who looked hardly old enough to be called such, stepped out of the darkness.

Upon reaching the light of day, he begun a stream of words and questions that Dahlia couldn’t answer. “Do you have Atari? How do you feel about Gameboys? The Rubix Cube? Is it still a thing? Have you seen Breakfast Club?” he continued, and Dahlia took a step back. This young man before her greatly contrasted with the flawless style of the first two. He wore a stained Journey t-shirt with more than a few rips and tears. His hair, a curled mullet, was a light copper. He wore a jade bomber jacket over his colorful shirt. The jacket was cleaner than the shirt he wore, as if he took great care with it. This one’s name was unknown to Dahlia; the others hadn’t yet addressed him. His contrast was further highlighted when he stood next to white-blonde-haired Cassius and pristine Bernard. The unnamed man pulled silver rimmed aviator shades out the pockets of the multicolored backpack he had slung over his shoulder. He put the glasses on and continued to ask more questions. As he did, Dahlia noticed a few small stains around the collar of his shirt. “Is… is that blood?”

“Not even!” he hastily replied, retreating behind the other strange men who had climbed out with him. “You better close those doors before-“

“Before some animal gets stuck down there,” Cassius interrupted the yet to be introduced person. He swiftly strode over to the large, heavy doors and shut them effortlessly. Dahlia noticed this and made a slight sound of surprise. Cassius whipped around to face her, planting the palms of his hands on the silver plate by accident. A quiet sizzling sound followed, and Cassius winched slightly. He pulled away and quickly hid his hands in the shallow pockets of his tailcoat. The sizzling noise immediately stopped. “You should probably make sure that’s sealed. To-uh- prevent any animals from crawling down there and dying,” he said after his palms were safely hidden from view. He picked up the stone Dahlia had used to pry open the doors and threw it to her.

“Why can’t you do it?” Dahlia replied. A strange look crossed Cassius’s face. He briefly pondered whether or not he could play the PTSD card. He also wondered if she’d believe him. Could a person be diagnosed with a silver allergy? Perhaps. He wasn’t sure, but the girl didn’t look like a medical professional. “I’m allergic to silver,” Cassius finally said. It would have been the perfect lie, had the youngest of the three not laughed. Cassius stared down the mid-twenty-year-old, regarding his Journey shirt with disgust. “Finn,” he sharply scolded.

“That’s your name,” Dahlia interrupted, pleased to have been saved the embarrassment of asking him later.

“Yeah, my name’s Finn,” he replied tartly, re-arranging the aviator glasses on his face.

Cassius scowled at him once more, then proceeded to explain himself. “It runs in my family. You’ll just have to do it yourself.” Finn snickered again, but an even sharper look from Cassius silenced him. Bernard chuckled to himself about the two’s antics. Cassius glanced down at his hand, surveying the damage the silver had done to his skin. Fortunately, it appeared to be no more than a first-degree burn. He hadn’t touched the metal long enough for it to be worse and sighed in relief at the minor injury. “Uh, whatever,” Dahlia said, choosing to ignore the more than strange moment the two had just shared.

As Dahlia pressed the metal into the wood, she glanced down at the signs on the metal. The engravings looked somewhat more defined than when she had scraped them away. Dahlia dismissed it as her eyes playing tricks on her. However, she didn’t notice the small gap that now stood in between the large cellar doors. It separated the wooden planks by less than half of a centimeter. A shard of sunlight peeped through this crack, piercing into the darkness below. The beam danced faintly over cold, stone steps and a little way into the dusty dark. It dared not venture further. From its position, it could see the faded silhouette of what appeared to be a rodent’s skull that smiled away in the now quiet shadows.