My greatest regret is not destroying the accursed atrament wardrobe sooner, for the children’s sake, and my sanity.

Having lost both parents, the piteous children came to live with me, their great uncle. Naturally I was remiss, having never fathered children myself. The only love of my life died ere I could propose to her. In bitterness, I swore off fanciful romanticism as childishness, whilst my immediate family produced children, who grew and produced children themselves. Two boys and two girls, to be exact.

Peculiar they were at first, and not simply because their loss. I daresay their subdued temperament was like flower petals knocked free by a strong gust, blown far from their stems, beautifully wandering, though dying. 

I did not pretend expertise on the raising of children, so I loosed them upon my manor. The estate stretched across the hillside, with rooms aplenty to entertain, such that we needn’t cross paths but during the three daily meals. At first they proceeded with caution, barely venturing beyond their rooms and the halls between. Upon reflection, they may have considered the manor haunted.

Soon though, they became too acquainted with the grounds and resorted to annoying one another, arguing for hours on end. Usually the younger brother would tease his little sister, until tears overtook her. Then the old siblings would berate the brother until he retreated to his room thereby slamming the door. So reported my household staff, for I stayed in my study much of the day, occupied by thoughtful reading and pipe tobacco. 

This went on for several days until the quarrels grew so loud they pierced my study walls. 

I tasked my staff to resolve the matter, but not a one of them raised children either. Thus not an inkling of imagination existed in subduing the rambunctious children. I contemplated no long term solution, try as I might, but a short term remedy presented itself by necessity. 

You see, a heavy rainfall imprisoned them within the manor’s walls one day. On this wet day their most intense bickering surfaced.  Although I longed to eject them outdoors, my staff noted that the children would catch cold and fall ill, or worse. Alas, they were limited to indoors. But a recollection reminded me of the simple childhood game, hide-and-go-seek. I assumed they would groan at my suggestion, but the idea excited them. All rooms, nooks, and crannies were fair sport, with the obvious exception of the undercroft. Under no circumstances was the cellar below the manor to be explored. I did not want the children getting lost in the dark bowels that crawled beneath the house. 

Wouldn’t you know, the devilish younger brother blatantly neglected my command.

We spent the better portion of an hour looking for him well after the game’s end until his siblings grew tired and we announced him the champion, hoping to draw him out. We scoured the place until defeated. Then I got the staff involved, searching high and low. Still the boy remained aloof. 

One maid suggested that temptation led the boy to probe the restricted undercroft. 

I thought it absurd, but sure as the moon dons a black veil once a month, so we found the door to the basement adjar. A foul air whistled an ungodly motif through the crack of the doorframe. 

“Which of you unlocked this?” None of my staff confessed, fearing termination. I would address that later. Momentarily I had harsh words for the lad. Livid anger boiled within my chest. Why had he disobeyed when I expressly forbade him?

At my request a maid produced a large candle and I descended the stairwell alone. The flickering candle cast dancing shadows across the low vaulted stone ceiling. I shot the boy's name into the dark, but only hollow echoes returned. I coaxed him with promises of desserts before supper, specifically turkish delight, which he was quite fond of. Naught but silence answered. 

I edged forward, but even the candle light hesitated to advance. I began threatening the boy with stern discipline such as had never been inflicted upon him, but idle threats forced me deeper.

A boyish cry rent the silence in twain. 

My anger died like a fire doused with water. A frigid trepidation crept over my body, lodging an ache in my aging joints. Wisps of my breath passed before my eyes. I prayed that he had not walked the length of the chamber. His name quivered on my lips. 

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Hearing the strain in my voice the three remaining siblings descended and joined me against my will. I admit now, their presence comforted me, yes me, a man more than fifty years their senior. 

As one we pressed onward in the dark. My staff, the cowards, stayed back, happy to be rid of me, I’m sure. At length we passed under many archways until we beheld it.

I almost crushed my nose against it’s doors. The sight of it caught my breath. The wardrobe wrought in ebony wood loomed before us.

Years prior, a mysterious black tree sprang from the soil atop my mother’s grave. Hideous was its scorched bark, oozing obsidian sap. Of spite I’d ordered it chopped down, but it seemed wasteful to dispose of it. A foreign thought compelled me to have it crafted into a fine piece of furniture. The craftsman died soon after. Still, I kept the damned thing. The moment it set foot in the manor I knew I'd erred. But try as I might, I could never be rid of it. Thus I banished it to the undercroft to live out its days in seclusion. 

A terrible oversight.

The latch of the wardrobe hung unlocked like an open coffin. How the lad made it so far in the dark I’ll never comprehend. With a shaking hand I rent open the wardrobe. Cold was it’s touch. I loathed it. 

 Where the back panel should have been there was only an inviting darkness. 

Without a word we proceeded in. All reason and caution were cast aside. The boy must be retrieved. 

Needless to say the wardrobe interior stretched beyond comprehension. 

At length we found ourselves climbing winding ancient steps hewn from pure obsidian. Our dark reflection ascended each step ahead of us. On either side of the steps lay a thick mist. A single slip would send one falling over a precipice to unknown depths. 

We climbed for time immeasurable. It seemed we were but specks inside a great cavern, the entrails of some godless netherworld.

Under such duress, I admittedly forgot the siblings journeyed with me. My heart almost stopped when the youngest girl uttered a cry of despair. I’d been focused on the steps and my own reflection therin. I looked up, but my countenance sank. 

We’d reached the summit. It culminated with a great dais so sleek, it appeared as a still body of blackened water. 

The boy lay abased. I knew at once he breathed not, though no injuries were visible. The stare upon his ashen face betrayed our late arrival. Instantly the children’s tears washed the dais. 

Try as I might, I could not silence them. Nor would they retreat. Their loss was too great. 

Insufferable despair filled me then, for I knew we must depart at once. 

A low thrumming quaked in my bones. It came from without, notes so low, they were not heard so much as felt. The children knew too for their crying ceased. 

Then I beheld it, a mere glimpse of the gigantic terror. 

It was lionesque in form, but beyond that all feline comparisons falter. It's great maw expanded as high as my estate gates. The deep thrumming poured from the maw along with light, like the glow of dying embers. Thick wriggling tentacles with a mind of their own comprised its mane. Leathery wings spanned the length of my vision with the absolution of my demise.

Its wrath weighed on me like a hot iron, simultaneously burning and crushing me.

Unbidden, I knew its name. 

The eldritch epithet roused in me such a bitter destitution of the soul, as I never experienced in all my years.

Against my will I backed away and tripped. My soul plummeting dark depths within me to some unseen cavern where only terror and loneliness lurked, anticipating the consumption of my being. Physically, I tumbled down a great many obsidian steps, too many to count. My injuries attest to that. 

By the time I straighten myself upright, I found it upon me, only a scorched breath away. The surviving children fled through the wardrobe, leaving the thing to claim me. 

A roar erupted from its throat that threatened to shatter my spirit. Thunderous claps resounded as it’s gargantuan wings flapped in pursuit of me, seeking to sate its predatory nature. Despite the pain and my years, I scurried down the steps. How I maintained balance after falling, I know not. 

Before long I stumbled headlong out of the cursed wardrobe into the undercroft. 

I came to my senses much later amidst a puddle of my tears, and other fluid.

The siblings remain dumb with shock, silently sentencing me to the asylum. Though I confessed he was slain on the obsidian altar, they demanded I recant. The body never surfaced, no matter how much scrutiny my manor underwent. 

When the night terrors seize me, the name of the entity echoes like a throbbing in my skull. 

N’alsa Fo Ain-ran, destroyer of worlds.

N’alsa Fo Ain-ran, slayer of innocence. 

N’alsa Fo Ain-ran, the manticore of madness!

END