Chapter 6: The First Supper
860 Words
The dining hall looked like it had once entertained royalty and now barely remembered how. A long, dust-caked mahogany table stretched beneath a massive chandelier that flickered dimly, half its crystals missing. The walls were lined with cracked oil paintings and once golden sconces now tarnished bronze.
Someone probably one of Evalyn’s spooked servants had laid out a simple but warm dinner: bowls of soup, bread, roasted vegetables, rice, and some kind of stew still steaming.
No one sat first.
Then Elise plopped into a chair halfway down the table.
“Screw the drama, I’m starving.”
Rosa laughed, grabbed a ladle, and began serving soup like she owned the place.
“If I die tonight, it won’t be on an empty stomach.”
One by one, the others settled in scattered along the table, not too close, not too far.
---
“Alright,” Rosa said, holding her spoon like a mic, “icebreaker time. I’m Rosa. Podcaster. Paranormal debunker. Here to ruin ghost stories for fun and clout.”
“Elise,” said the wild-haired girl beside her, flashing a grin. “Vlogger. Urban explorer. Chaos in human form.”
She raised her glass of water like a toast.
“We’re either getting haunted or famous.”
“Or both,” Rosa added, clinking glasses.
---
Across the table, Zhen passed a basket of bread silently toward Yusuf, who nodded his thanks but didn’t speak.
Luca lounged back in his chair, swirling soup like it was wine.
“Luca,” he said smoothly. “Writer. Mostly horror. Figured this place might give me inspiration... or at least nightmares worth writing about.
“You picked the perfect hellhole,” Elise smirked.
“That’s the point,” he replied, eyes twinkling.
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Dakota, seated near the end, passed the salt to Arjun and spoke without looking up.
“Dakota. Used to be in the army med. Not here for stories.”
“Arjun,” the man beside her said simply. “Forensics. Just... observing.”
Yusuf finally spoke.
“Architect. Structural designer. I’ve studied old buildings my whole life,” he said quietly, spoon poised over his bowl. “This one... doesn’t fit any pattern.”
“Creepy,” Elise whispered.
Rosa's eyes naturally shifted to the quiet charming figure two seats down Zhen Liu
Rosa tilted her head playfully.
“And you, Mystery Man? Got a name, or should we keep calling you Hacker Dude?”
Zhen looked up, met her eyes for exactly one second, then back at his bowl.
“Zen,” he said flatly.
That was it.
Elise raised an eyebrow.
“Like… just Zen?”
He didn’t answer.
“Okay, well,” Rosa grinned, “mysterious, broody, and monosyllabic. Ghosts are gonna love you.”
Zen sipped his soup and said nothing.
Then all eyes turned to Nina who had sat silently at the very end of the table.
She gave a soft smile, fingers tracing the rim of her spoon.
“Nina. Psychic.”
No one responded.
After a moment, Elise leaned in and whispered to Rosa, loud enough for all to hear.
“She’s definitely seen our deaths already.”
Rosa snorted into her soup.
The mood lifted a little as they passed dishes and awkwardly shared butter knives. Elise cracked more jokes.Luca also got involved. Rosa narrated parts of the meal like a live podcast.
Still, beneath the warmth of hot stew and flickering lights, something lingered an awareness.
That they were strangers.
That the walls listened.
After the last spoon scraped the bowl and Elise made a show of licking her fingers, the room settled into a sleepy hush. The chandelier flickered low, casting strange shadows that danced like things trying to speak.
Rosa stood, stretching.
“Alright, folks, who’s on dish duty?”
To her surprise, a few hands actually went up. Dakota silently took plates, Yusuf stacked glasses with precision, Elise gathered napkins while humming a horror movie theme.
Even Zen silently carried a tray to the counter, disappearing just as quietly as he’d come.
There was something oddly comforting about it strangers performing normal tasks in a place that was anything but normal.
“Goodnight, weirdos,” Rosa yawned, heading toward the main hallway.
“Try not to get possessed,” Elise called after her.
One by one, they drifted off to their rooms, feet echoing on the stone floor, doors creaking shut behind them.
But not everyone left.
At the far end of the long dining table, Arjun Desai remained seated, quiet and unmoving. No one noticed. No one looked back.
He waited until the last footsteps faded down the corridor.
Then, slowly, he stood.
Pulled out a small flashlight from his coat. A pen. A thin notebook with pages already filled.
He moved to the fireplace, knelt, and began inspecting the soot stained bricks. Light swept across the floor, up the portraits, under the long buffet cabinet.
He noted the tilt of the walls. The faint scratch marks near the baseboards. A loose floor tile near the window.
Something had happened here. Something no ghost story could explain.
And he intended to find out exactly what.
- Writer
