I dreamt I went to Manderley again, Part II
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This post is part two of a multi-part story. If you haven’t read the first part, start here. From here on out, the assumption is that you’ve read the story of my first visit to Sleep No More in 2016.
This one’s a similar length to my original post — maybe a bit longer — it should take around half an hour to read.
- Part I: Maximilian’s Guests
- Part II: The Green Beast
- Part III: The Bald Witch
- Part IV: Distractions
- Part V: Doppelgäng-bar
- Part VI: Invader
- Part VII: The Raven
- Part VIII: Elizabeth
- Part IX: The Rave
- Part X: Is That All There Is
- Part XI: Flash-forward
- Part XII: I’ll Wait
- Part XIII: Our First Meal
- Part XIV: If That’s All There Is
- Part XV: Next Time
Part I: Maximilian’s Guests
Okay. I assume you know what Sleep No More is, and I assume you know I had to come back.
I planned a trip back to Manhattan for October/November of 2018. I travelled once again with my best friend Michael, both of us eager to dip our toes back into the Sleep No More experience once again. Twice again, in fact.
What follows is a spoiler-filled version of events from my second visit to the show, this time in October of 2018. Last time I spent most of my time attempting to orient myself and learn the layout of the hotel.
But this time, I came prepared. I came with something resembling a bit more of a plan. This time, I would follow particular characters more closely.
We showed up ten minutes before our call time; the line was significant. At least sixty people were lined up outside.
We walked directly past everyone in the line, and straight up to the doorman.
“We’re here as Maximilian’s Guests,” I said to him.
The McKittrick sells tickets to Sleep No More with the ability to upgrade to Maximilian’s Guest status, meaning you are able to completely skip both the door and coat check lines, as well as having a reserved table at the Manderley.
The doorman checked our IDs, stamped us both as being able to drink, and told us to “wait here”.
Soon after, the doors opened, and we were escorted inside by a member of staff, once again to the epic strains of Bernard Hermann’s The Man Who Knew Too Much. He walked us past the coat check line, which was full of people, to a closed door.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “in a moment this door will open, and you can check your coats here.”
It did; we did.
“Is this your first time here?” asked the man who had escorted us in.
“No, we’ve both been here before.”
The man then brandished two playing cards and handed them to us.
“Then you know what these room keys are for. Head inside to the Manderley bar. Once inside, find the absinthe table, and ask for a woman named Coraline. She’ll assist you further.”
Part II: The Green Beast
We once again walked through the twisted, dimly lit corridor that led to the bar.
“What did you get?” asked Michael.
I had a two. He had a three. The same as last time, but with the roles reversed.
The brass of The Man Who Knew Too Much began to fade, giving way to jovial conversation and laughter as we rounded the corner into the Manderley Bar.
Memories of my first visit came flooding back. The only thing that was different was the actors. A crooning man in a tux was wandering about, while a tall woman in an ornate dress was doing the same, making conversation with various patrons. Two people stood at a table in the centre of the room, hawking absinthe to customers. We approached them.
“Hello,” said a woman standing at the table.
“Hello,” said Michael. “We’re looking for Coraline?”
“That’s me,” she said, grabbing a clipboard. “And what might your name be?”
“Michael,” he replied. She scanned the list, and then frowned.
“Is your booking under that name?”
“It isn’t,” I said. “You’ll find it under my name, Nick.”
“Gotcha,” she said. “Follow me.”
She led us to a small two-person table right next to the little stage in the bar, where we took our seats. Behind us sat a woman performing what looked like a tarot reading, but other than that, no one had really taken up position at any of the reserved tables yet.
Coraline provided us with a drinks menu, and then asked “now, what can I get you?”
“I’m not someone who drinks,” I said, “but I’m willing to break my own rules tonight for immersion’s sake. I’ve never tried absinthe; what do you recommend?”
“Well, if you’re not much of a drinker, it’ll all be over much more quickly if you just do a shot, but otherwise, I can make you something where you won’t taste it very much.”
“Do you like the taste of black liquorice?” came a booming voice from the stage behind us.
We turned around to see, stood on the stage, the man who calls people’s cards to enter the show. He was looking down at us; and had been listening to our conversation.
“I do,” said Michael. I don’t, but it couldn’t be too bad, right?
“Then I recommend the Green Beast.”
“What say you, gents?” asked Coraline.
“Let’s do it.”
Coraline returned a few minutes later with our drinks. The man (who had introduced himself to everyone as “Carroway”), had called the Aces in to the performance already. There wouldn’t be much time to drink this drink.
I took a sip. I hated it.
Then, Carroway took to the stage again, and called everyone with a Two card to take their place at the entryway to the hotel.
Well, there went my chance to sip it slowly. “Ah well, bottom’s up I guess.”
I downed the entire cocktail. A feeling of warmth flooded me, and I headed towards the line of people waiting to enter.
“Catch you on the other side,” I said to Michael.
Carroway handed me a mask, and for the second time I stepped into the void.
Part III: The Bald Witch
On this night for some reason, the elevator was non-operational. After the main spiel of the rules was given by the woman in the long dress (which interestingly, now included a clause about maintaining a “respectable distance from the residents”, presumably as a response to allegations of sexual assault of performers by audience members), we were simply directed to the stairs and told to make a choice to either go “up” or “down”.
In researching the show after my initial visit, I knew that the show started with the ballroom scene. While I knew I’d probably missed the main event (again, I was entering about ten minutes after the first loop had started), I immediately headed down, as low as the staircase would take me.
I arrived at the mezzanine overlooking the ballroom, where maybe 5 other audience members were watching the scene below.
What I could see occurring below was exactly what I’d hoped for. The ballroom dance itself had finished, and the Bald Witch was locked in a supernatural battle with MacDuff.
As I peered over the edge of the balcony I noticed that no one else was down there. The staircase I’d taken didn’t go any lower, but I knew that behind me, past a portrait of William Shakespeare, was another, decently hidden staircase that led down to the ballroom itself.
I took it, and ended up standing in the ballroom alone with the Bald Witch and the man she’d taken down. You might remember this scene from the end of my previous post. I’d tried to follow her last time, but almost immediately gotten separated from her as around 30 other people followed her out in front of me.
Not this time. I was the only audience member down here; provided I was physically fit enough to keep up with her (which, let’s be honest — debatable), I’d be in a prime position to see her story. She snatched her wig up off the ground, and I followed her.
Running up the stairs, she entered the darkened lobby of The McKittrick, a room with a long, wall-to-wall front desk, behind which is a display of hundreds of keys. No one else was here. She jumped behind the desk, and ran along its length into an opening that wasn’t accessible to me.
Panicking — I didn’t want to lose her immediately after finding her — I briefly considered jumping the desk too, but as my eyes followed the wall she’d disappeared behind I realised that there was another entrance at the other end of it. Expecting to intercept her, I ran towards it, and stuck my head around the corner.
A narrow hallway spanned the length of where I was standing and the entrance the Witch had ducked behind. It was empty.
What?!
I ran down the hallway, and only then did I see it — a tiny little alcove, around halfway along the hallway. Inside the alcove was a tiny room, just wide enough to fit a tiny dresser — and at the dresser, was sat the Bald Witch.
The room was just long enough for me to squeeze in behind her. I did.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she picked up a wine bottle off the dresser, took a long swig, and slammed it down on the table.
And then her eyes slid up, making eye contact with me. She grinned, the most wicked and horrifying grin. I held her gaze.
Then, she closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and extended her hand out, backwards, to me.
I put my hand in hers.
Slowly and deliberately, she brought her hands together with mine, and with slow, deliberate motions, spread my fingers apart individually.
She then lowered my palm onto her head, and started using my hand to massage her entire bald head.
For what felt like an uncomfortable eternity but would have in real life been maybe thirty seconds, she slowly rotated her head, pressing down with her hands on top of mine, running each of my fingers over the skin of her scalp.
Her eyes never opened while this happened. It was like she was gaining some kind of sick pleasure from it.
Eventually she stopped. Letting go of my hand, she stood up, turned to face me, looked me in the eye, grinned her evil grin again, and fled the room.
I chased her.
Part IV: Distractions
Running up a flight of stairs, the Bald Witch parted a curtain in the middle of a wall that I otherwise would never have noticed. I followed her in, only to find myself in the speakeasy I’d witnessed Banquo be murdered in two years prior.
About a dozen audience members were here watching a scene being performed by a man whose identity I wasn’t quite sure of, and I joined them as the Bald Witch entered.
Another battle occurred, which eventually spilled out onto the street, where the Bald Witch was joined by the other two witches — one, a blonde woman in a flowing green dress, whom I recognised as the dead woman who’d woken up on a slab in front of me two years ago, and an incredibly tall, black man with a plaited mohawk. I’m going to refer to them by what their character names are credited as — “Sexy Witch” and “Boy Witch”, respectively — from here on out. I didn’t choose those names.
By this point the three witches were surrounded by dozens upon dozens of audience members, to the point where I was finding it incredibly difficult to see what was happening.
In frustration, I turned around, resigning myself to the fact that I, a very short person, was not going to be able to see this scene, when I saw her — a petite brunette woman in a knee-length skirt and blouse. She slipped behind the gathered crowd, walking along the street, ignoring the goings on, but most importantly …
… no one else had seen her.
I had plenty of time to catch up with the Witches later. This woman? This woman was someone I’d never seen before.
I slipped in behind her as she snaked her way through the crowd of audience members, and led me down the street in a direction I’d never considered before (this happens a lot), until we walked through a set of double doors and arrived in —
… The Manderley Bar?
Part V: Doppelgäng-bar
Except it wasn’t.
The Manderley Bar was two floors down.
This was impossible.
I was standing in a room that looked exactly like The Manderley Bar. But it was devoid of the dozens of people that ordinarily occupy it. There was no warmth. No jazzy music. No drinks being served. It was as if someone had evacuated the bar downstairs and then thirty years had passed. The entire room looked to be a dilapidated facsimile of a room I’d been sitting in and shared a drink with Michael not thirty minutes earlier.
In the corner, under a spotlight, sat a tall woman in a flowing, red dress. This was Hecate, goddess of the supernatural and the boss of the Three Witches, and when I realised who she was, I also realised the woman I’d followed in here was about to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.
The woman timidly approached Hecate, pulled a folded slip of paper out of her purse and handed it over. She was asking for her help.
Hecate looked at the note, smiled at the woman, and then tore the paper up in front of her. She beckoned the woman to sit down beside her, and then poured two shots from a bottle. She raised one, the woman nervously raised the other, they both downed their shots and slammed the empty glasses down on the table simultaneously.
But Hecate’s glass was still full.
The woman looked at Hecate with wide, panicked eyes, her chest heaving, as she realised what was happening to her.
Hecate produced a stick of lipstick and forced her to apply it. The woman began to cry; as she did, Hecate pulled out a small glass vial and collected her tears in it. Seemingly satisfied, she disappeared.
The woman was now on the verge of death; she slumped over the table she was sitting at, clutching a photo of the woman she had been asking for Hecate’s help to locate.
Part VI: Invader
I followed this woman for a little while longer, as she got up, went back to her house, pined over her missing friend (sister? mother?), but eventually, as always, the amount of audience members made it untenable for someone of my short stature to see what was going on.
Instead, I decided to head upwards. I was hoping to encounter one of the more ancillary, non-Macbeth characters, such as the Matron (I didn’t get any of her story other than the one-on-one I experienced last time), when suddenly a nurse burst out of a room in front of me.
I jumped in behind her, as she walked to a room I’d seen before but was unaware of its purpose. In the centre of the room was a long, rectangular table, and to the left and right of the entrance were stairs which led to a viewing platform which ran the perimeter of the room in a hexagonal shape, overlooking the table.
It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a Victorian-era surgery, where a doctor would perform an operation while onlookers observed from above.
The nurse walked up the steps on one side of the viewing platform, walked all the way around the platform, came down the other side, and then walked the perimeter of the room again, this time on the inside of the platform.
The inside of the hexagonal platform was lined with sheets of corrugated iron, and as the nurse walked around it, she ran her knuckles along each of the five sheets, producing a loud sound.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrrrrrp.
I positioned myself at the entrance to the space she was in, against the railing of the stairs. She did another rotation, again running her knuckles along the corrugated iron, this time, faster.
Brrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrp. Brrrrrrrrp.
Again. Faster. And more agressively:
Brrrrrrrrp! Brrrrrrrrp! Brrrrrrrrp! Brrrrrrrrp! Brrrrrrrrp!
Picking up speed, she continued, no expression on her face, staring straight ahead, ignoring the crowd which had gathered and begun to fill up the viewing platform.
Brrrrp! Brrrrp! Brrrrp! Brrrrp! Brrrrp!
She was really raking her knuckles across the iron now:
BRRRP! BRRRP! BRRRP! BRRRP! BRRRP!
By now, about twenty-five to thirty people had gathered. She was hooking it around the room, like a crazy rat within a maze, until:
BRRRP! BRRRP! BANG.
She threw her hand down, flat on the table.
Seemingly, with a mind of its own, her hand flipped onto its back. She grabbed it with her other hand and forced it back into place.
Like something was crawling underneath the surface, she began to pinch and pull at her skin like she was trying to catch something in there. It worked its way up her arm, down one of her legs, as she performed an elaborately beautiful dance whilst trying to simultaneously rid herself of whatever was inside of her.
She used the table to great effect, standing on it, sliding across it, at one point balancing her neck and head off it whilst running her feet along the viewing platform, whilst simultaneously conveying the panic and determination she was experiencing as she attempted to rid herself of this thing which had invaded her body.
It was clearly depleting her; she was beginning to lose this battle with whatever it was. Becoming more and more desperate, she exerted a final last-ditch attempt to push this thing out of her as it crawled up the inside of her neck, and she collapsed, flat on her back, onto the table.
It was over. Had the invader won? Or had she overcome it?
Exhausted and breathing heavily, her head finally lolled to the side, where her eyes suddenly found mine.
My heart began to pound. I didn’t break. I held her gaze.
Weakly, she extended her hand out towards me.
With around thirty people looking down on us from the viewing platform, I stepped forward and placed my hand in hers.
Sitting bolt upright, she hopped down off the table and led me away from everyone, down a hallway, to a closed door. Dozens of other audience members followed us.
Producing a key from around her neck, she leaned forward, unlocked the door, then turned around, grabbed the back of my neck, and so that no one else could hear, whispered in my ear:
“Wait. Here.”
She then disappeared into the room, slammed the door shut, and I heard it lock behind her.
Part VII: The Raven
I wasn’t about to disobey. I stood, facing the door, waiting. At least fifteen other audience members surrounded me.
“Well if you’re not going in, I will,” said a random woman, who pushed past me and tried the door.
The handle, of course, refused to turn. I smiled underneath my mask. The woman turned and walked away.
Suddenly, the door flung open.
From inside, the nurse reached out and grabbed my arm, pulled me inside, and positioned me against the wall behind the door. She then closed it again, making sure to lock it. We were alone.
It’s hard to describe in words, but the first thing I immediately noticed was the effect of her closing the door — the sound from outside, the sound and music that fills the entire hotel, became muted, like a scene in a film where the main character falls into a body of water. I was suddenly very aware of my own breathing — and the fact that I could hear it.
In the seconds I had to take in the interior of the room, I was able to discern that I was inside some kind of office. There was a lounge against the back wall, a large ornate desk opposite me, and a lot of medical imagery surrounding the walls.
The nurse turned and faced me again. Looking deeply into my eyes, she gently removed my mask and placed it on the desk behind her. As she did, sound returned to the room; like my encounter with the Matron in the hut two years earlier, this room had a soundtrack to its own that only the nurse and I could hear.
Placing both hands on my upper arms, she started walking me backwards across the room. I hadn’t had time to take in the entire layout of the room; I was nervous I was going to trip over something, but I also had to trust that she wouldn’t let that happen. I felt something soft touch the back of my calves — she’d walked me to the lounge — and she gestured for me to sit down.
I sat, and she sat to my right. She was staring at something across the room, on the desk. I squinted, my eyes still adjusting to the low light. I couldn’t see anything in particular. When I looked back at her, she was staring right at me.
She swiftly got up, grabbing my legs and bringing them up to the lounge beside me — without really realising it was happening, I was lying down along the length of the couch.
Once I was flat on my back on the couch, she walked over to the corner of the room, where a vaguely humanoid shape was covered underneath a grey woollen blanket. Maintaining eye contact with me, she lifted the blanket off the figure (god I hoped it was just a mannequin), and, without lowering the blanket so that I could see behind it, began to move towards me with it.
The music became more sinister; as I laid on the couch, she began to lower the blanket over my entire body, including my head, as if she were covering up a body that had died. Right before the blanket touched my face and my vision went black, she suddenly lowered it slightly; tucking it under my chin and over my shoulders. I stole a quick look at the object that the blanket had been covering; it was a headless, armless mannequin.
Her expression was blank, serious; it was impossible to know what her motives were. She busied herself with tucking the blanket in all the way down my body, on both sides. Once she’d done that, she leaned across me and flicked on a light switch behind my head — the switch illuminated a passage of text, previously hidden, that was scrawled across the wall in chalk:
The raven himself is hoarse
that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
We both silently read the text. I had no idea what it meant.
And then the scene took a real turn for the weird.
The nurse coughed, first slightly, and then again, more violently. She was laying on top of me; I was paralysed underneath the blanket. She began to retch; coughing more and more, until suddenly, the thing that had been working its way through her body earlier finally fought its way out of her.
Pinning me down with one hand, she reached into her mouth with her free hand and pulled out a single nail.
The music started to build to a discordant crescendo, like a horror movie. Strings began to rise, and the nurse turned to look at me with a horrified expression, like I’d witnessed something I absolutely should not have. Underneath the blanket, my Apple Watch vibrated, warning me that my heart rate was high while I wasn’t moving, and that I may have been having a heart attack.
In the space of a few seconds, and with the music still rising, she whipped the blanket off of me, stood me up, walked me towards the door, and picked up my mask.
Right as the strings reached their peak, she put the mask back onto my face, and as soon as it was in place, the music stopped.
Grabbing my shoulders tightly, she leaned in close to my ear, and spoke the only words I’d heard since taking off my mask:
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
She opened the door, pushed me out, and closed and locked it behind me.
Part VIII: Elizabeth
With the door closed behind me and the nurse at least temporarily unavailable, I ran around for a while trying to find another character to follow. Unfortunately, everyone I found was surrounded by masses of audience members; and as I was getting thirsty from all the stair-climbing, I decided to do something I’d not done before. I went back to the Manderley in the middle of the show.
Like a videogame pause menu, the Manderley was like a separate world. Everyone inside had their masks off, chatting jovially. It was a crazy contrast to the sinisterly dark events occurring throughout the rest of the hotel. A small jazz band had started up on the stage, and conversation was flowing between the roughly dozen or so people within the bar. As I entered and removed my mask, Coraline approached me.
“How you doin’, hon? You need anything?”
“Just a glass of water, please.”
“Sure thing,” she winked. “I’ll be right back.”
I took a seat at our reserved table and looked up at the jazz band. A man was improvising on the baby grand piano, two other men were on drums and bass, and a woman was at the birdcage microphone, scatting to the improvised music. Coraline returned with some water, and I savoured the atmosphere as I drank. The band looked like they were having so much fun; I couldn’t help but smile and feel like it truly was the 1930’s. I looked around the bar — Coraline and Carroway were still wandering, chatting to people; and behind me, in a darkened corner of the bar, I saw someone I’d seen earlier but not paid much attention to — until now.
A young, brunette woman in an elaborate, sparkly blue dress was sat at a table on her own, shuffling a pile of tarot cards, laying them out on the table, inspecting them, and then gathering them up, reshuffling the deck, and repeating the action, over and over again. No one was paying her any attention.
My mask was off, and you were allowed to talk in here. It felt a bit weird to just approach her, but she was clearly a character of some description; she had her own table, and was being ignored by everyone else in the bar.
Fortune favours the bold or whatever, so fuck it, I thought, and sat opposite her.
She looked up at me, and smiled.
“Hello, my dear,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Nick,” I replied, “what’s yours?”
“Nice to meet you, Nick. I’m Elizabeth.”
She extended her hand to me. I shook it. “Nice to meet you.”
“Do I detect a hint of an accent? Where are you from?”
“I’m Australian,” I answered, suddenly trying to sound as non-bogan as possible.
“Ah,” she said. “Well, let me tell you this. I’ve never once met an Australian I didn’t like. So all I need is for you to not be a dick. You’re not a dick, right?”
“I certainly hope not,” I smiled. “I try not to be.”
She laughed. “So, what brings you to New York?”
I thought about it for a few seconds.
“This,” I said honestly. “I came here two years ago, and loved it so much, I had to come back.”
An expression of shock crossed her face.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I laughed. “There are other reasons, of course. But this is the main one.”
She reached out a hand, and gently cupped my face in it.
“That might just be the most adorable thing I think I’ve ever heard. I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”
It was certainly a nice moment.
“Now,” she said, “have you ever had a tarot reading?”
“Never.”
“Oh, then I’m so glad to be your first,” she winked. “Let me explain to you how it works.”
Part IX: The Rave
I won’t regale you with the entire tarot reading here; to be perfectly honest it’s not something I believe in. It was, however, still fun to have done, and Elizabeth did a great, respectful job of explaining the story and meaning of each card without trying to have me attribute any deeper personal meaning to what she was saying.
After the reading was finished, I thanked Elizabeth for her time (“I hope to see you around here again someday,” she said, to which I agreed), donned my mask, and headed back in to the depths of the hotel.
As I ascended the stairs and broke out onto the fourth floor, I heard something I hadn’t heard before inside the walls of The McKittrick. Ordinarily the music is Bioshock-esque; the soundtracks of Hitchcock films punctuated by occasional 1930’s radio tunes. But from the other end of a hallway, what I could hear now, was something completely different.
It was the beginnings of a thumping, techno beat.
I ran towards it, and found myself back in Hecate’s replica of the Manderley bar.
Hecate herself was standing in her corner of the bar, arms outstretched, head back, breathing in a staccato rhythm that matched the beat of the music.
I watched, slightly panicked, with a vague idea of what was about to happen but no idea where to stand or what to do. I knew I was about to witness a legendary scene, but also that the room was about to fill very quickly. I stood close to Hecate, as the sudden rumbling of the footsteps of many people got closer and closer.
Hecate was summoning the three witches; this was Sleep No More’s take on the famous “double double, toil and trouble” scene from Macbeth.
A number of black-masked staff members positioned themselves strategically around the room, just in time for the three witches and Macbeth to burst in, followed by, and I’m not kidding, what would have been about a hundred people. The black-masks let the characters pass, and then began to funnel the audience members around the room, leaving a space in the middle for the characters to occupy.
The witches (again, two women and a guy, known as Sexy, Bald and Boy) and Macbeth began throwing each other around the tables of the bar. The electronica music started to clearly build to a drop; as it did I turned back to look at Hecate, who had a single arm in the air and was whispering an enchantment to the sky that no one could hear.
I strained to look at what the witches were doing but couldn’t see too much past the crowd that surrounded them. The music was seconds away from the drop. The room was full of people, it was filling with smoke, audience members were jostling to get to the front of the circle surrounding the witches.
I managed to stand up on a chair, just in time to witness the madness.
The music hit its peak, but instead of a drop there was suddenly silence, and then a whole bunch of things happened at once:
- The lights went out and the room was plunged into pitch-blackness,
- a heartbeat sound became audible over the silence, and
- in sync with the heartbeat, a strobe light started flashing.
And then all hell broke loose.
Sexy Witch let out a blood-curdling scream, and suddenly the room was filled with techno music again. Clothes started coming off; Macbeth’s formal wear was torn open, Sexy Witch had one breast exposed; Bald Witch, both. Boy Witch was nowhere to be seen, until he reappeared, full-frontally naked, wearing nothing but a giant ram’s head over his own.
The strobe light meant that you could only catch a freeze-frame of what was happening once or twice every second or so. Trying to watch any given character was incredibly disorienting; with each flash of the strobe, everyone would be in a different position.
It was absolute chaos. Out of nowhere, everyone was covered in blood. Boy Witch, still wearing his ram’s head, was carrying Bald Witch towards Macbeth, as she held a trembling, incredibly realistic looking baby that was also drenched in blood.
A few more flashes and the scene was completely different; the baby was nowhere to be seen, Sexy Witch and Bald Witch were making out with each other. I had a sudden flashback to trying to explain Sleep No More to my boss after I went the first time:
“So … it’s like a sex thing?”
“It’s not a sex thing.”
“It sounds like a sex thing.”
I stood, shocked, watching Macbeth perform a simulated fellatio on the Boy Witch, and was hit with the realisation that it … was kind of a sex thing.
The witches and Macbeth became a writhing, half naked pile of bodies, making out with and grinding on each other. I tried thinking back to Shakespeare’s original text of this scene that we’d studied in Year 7 English. I don’t remember it being an orgy? Had Mrs Jaszczyk had told us that, we might’ve engaged with it a bit more.
I turned around and looked at Hecate, who was simply watching the entire scene from her corner. There was another scream from the middle of the room. I turned back, and — as quick as it started — it was over.
The lights returned to normal, to reveal Macbeth standing on a table in the centre of the bar; the three witches were passed out on chairs surrounding him. As swiftly as he’d arrived, Macbeth ran out of the room.
Bald Witch slunk over to Hecate, who took her face in her hands for a moment, then dismissed her.
I hadn’t seen the Bald Witch since losing her early on in the first loop, so I followed her out — but not before taking a final look at Hecate, who suddenly, in that moment, had become the most interesting character in the show to me. From a plot standpoint, she literally just made all of that madness happen.
In that moment, I decided that the next time I came back to this show, the first place I would come would be here, when the crowds were thinner, and I would figure out exactly what her deal was.
Part X: Is That All There Is
I followed the Bald Witch for a while, but eventually lost her because she fled up the stairs and I got stuck behind a fat man who couldn’t keep up with her.
Wandering aimlessly for a while, I encountered the Boy Witch again, who was dancing in a luggage rack, watched by four or five other audience members. I watched him for a while, and then he leaned over the counter and extended his hand out towards me.
Holy shit, really?
I stepped forward to place my hand in his, but right before our hands touched, his hand dropped away, and he went right back to dancing.
A few moments later, he extended his hand again, to someone else this time. This time, right before they touched — psyche! — his hand quickly shot back up to his head, slicking his hair back.
Suddenly he leapt over the counter, tapped me on the top of my head with a single finger, and walked off. I followed him. He stopped, taking off his jacket, and hung it on my shoulder, like I was a coat rack.
I stood there, as he adjusted his cuffs, briefly interacted with another character, and then took the coat off me. The audience members were just tools to him; it was kind of hilarious.
I followed him for a while longer. Later on, he stepped up onto a raised platform in the hotel’s “lobby”, behind a birdcage microphone.
A plinking piano tune began to play, a spotlight illuminated Boy Witch, and he began to speak; except when he did, it was with a woman’s voice:
“I remember when I was a very little girl, our house caught on fire. I’ll never forget the look on my father’s face as he gathered me up in his arms and raced through the burning building out to the pavement. And I stood there, shivering in my pyjamas and watched the whole world go up in flames. And when it was all over, I said to myself, is that all there is to a fire?”
And then, the music became more jovial, more like a song; and Boy Witch began to sing — well, lip-sync — Peggy Lee’s Is That All There Is:
Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is
He performed the entire four-minute song, winking at me occasionally. It was so surreal to me, and I couldn’t place why.
Was it because he was singing with Peggy Lee’s voice? Or was it because less than half an hour ago I’d seen his penis?
Maybe it was a bit of both.
Part XI: Flash-forward
When the show finished, Michael and I met back at our table in the bar. I told him all about my encounters with the nurse, the witches, and Elizabeth; he told me that for the entire show he’d followed both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Sharing our experiences, combined with our visit in 2016 meant that the greater story began to click together a lot more for me.
In his three visits to the show, Michael had still not had a proper one-on-one experience (although he didn’t mind), and there was one character I was still deeply curious about.
I wanted both of those things remedied.
And so, fast-forward a week, and back we came.
Maximilian’s Guests. Reserved table. Drinks. It was all the same, yet slightly different. Coraline was nowhere to be seen — instead, we were served by a woman named Beverley. Carroway wasn’t there either; this time, the woman who normally performs the entrance spiel took his place, and summoned us to the masking area.
On this night, the elevator was in operation. And on this night, Michael and I had shown up early enough to both be granted Ace cards. We would be the first people inside this time. The doors opened and we got on; I took one look at the bellhop, then did a double-take.
It was Boy Witch.
Except, of course, it wasn’t. It was the same actor, but he was playing a different role tonight — “James”, the bellhop. It was a weird, alternate universe version of the show we’d seen a week ago.
In the group of Aces entering the show, I deliberately made myself the last person onto the elevator, which meant that I would be the first person to be let off. The door opened, I stepped out into the hallway, looked back, and James’ arm was out, stopping Michael (and everyone else in the elevator) from following me.
I watched as the elevator doors closed, and set my plan into action.
I knew that for a brief moment I would literally be the only audience member in the entire show. I looked around the corner and saw rows of baths, and knew I was on level five.
I tried to go up to level six, the only floor I’d never seen, that only a few people got to see each show, if at all. A black-mask stopped me.
Damn. Okay, they don’t just let the first person that tries up there. That’s fine. It was a long shot anyway. On to the rest of the plan.
I started running downwards, passing Michael on my way down as he came up to the fifth level.
He motioned upwards. Did you get up there?
I shook my head. No.
He patted me on the shoulder, and I headed down to level four, to find the replica Manderley Bar.
For a panicked few minutes I couldn’t find the entrance.
“I’m lost,” I kept saying to myself, as I encountered more and more audience members being let into the area.
Eventually though, I found the entrance to the long, dark hallway that leads to the bar, waited for no one else to be around, and entered the faux-Manderley, assuming I’d find Hecate inside.
I didn’t. It was empty.
I waited inside, for about ten minutes. No one came.
I should still wait here, I thought to myself. She’ll show up eventually.
I waited another agonizing five minutes.
Still nothing.
I’m wasting time, I thought. I had the advantage of being let in here early and I’ve totally wasted it.
Perhaps she’s out on the street. I’ll just go and check.
I left the bar, and walked down the hallway as quietly as I could, so as to not attract the attention of any other audience members. I saw many of them walk straight past the entrance to the hallway I was standing in, as I’d probably done so many times in 2016. If you didn’t know this hallway was here, it was ridiculously easy to miss it. It wasn’t lit — from the outside, it was basically a black void in the wall.
I got about halfway down the hallway, and then I heard a door slam shut behind me, back inside the bar.
I legged it back toward the bar, just in time to see Hecate exiting it. She approached a door that a black-mask was standing next to that I hadn’t noticed before, opened it, and stepped inside.
I ran up to her.
Once across the threshold, she turned around, looked directly into my eyes, and …
… slammed the door shut in my face.
I tried the handle. It was locked.
Part XII: I’ll Wait
Alright, I know she’s here now. I walked back down the hallway, looking for an alternate exit to the room I knew she was now in. I could see a couple of locked doors, and back out on the street, a couple more. I had no way of knowing which one, if any, were exits to the room she was currently in.
So I went back into the bar, and waited for her.
In all of my visits, I’d intended to follow a single character for an entire loop, but been overwhelmed by crowds or lost characters as they fled up staircases. Hecate was one character I knew I’d probably be able to keep up with for the entire loop; I knew she stayed on the same level the entire show, and I was just so intrigued by her character — a literal goddess, the boss of the witches.
A few audience members wandered in and out, and eventually, she came back in.
Her long, flowing red dress dragging behind her, she walked over to her usual table, arranged a few items here and there, and then turned around to face me and a few other audience members who’d followed her in.
She spread her arms wide, tilted her head back, and then, the thumping, techno beat started.
A minute or so later, the witches and Macbeth entered the bar, followed by a few dozen people (much less than the last time I saw this scene, but still a lot of people).
I stayed next to Hecate. The music dropped. Heartbeat. Strobe light. Nakedness, screaming, sex.
I turned my back to it, and sat in a chair, facing her.
She locked eyes with me, and smiled an evil, wicked grin.
We held each other’s gaze for the entirety of the rave.
When it was over, both the Bald Witch and Boy Witch approached her. Tearing her eyes away from me for the first time, she stood up, dismissed them, and walked over to the Sexy Witch, who was a shambles on the floor. Her top was half off, exposing her chest, she was covered in blood, and her hair was a tangled mess.
Hecate opened a fan and began to flick it; Sexy Witch reacted as if magically being thrown by her. She performed a dance along the length of the bar while Hecate stood and watched; eventually, she helped the witch back in to her clothes, cleaned her up, and dismissed her as well.
She then walked back to her table, sat down, and the woman who I’d followed into this room the first time entered (I’d since learned her name was Agnes, and she was looking for her sister).
She gave Hecate the note. Hecate tore it up. She poisoned Agnes, collected her tears in a vial, and exited the room.
I tried to follow, but once again, pushy audience members blocked me. Hecate entered the door I’d seen her enter earlier, but this time she pulled someone inside.
The door closed. The crowd dispersed.
I waited again.
Part XIII: Our First Meal
While I was waiting, I wandered around the bar, looking at the post-rave mess. The baby that had somehow been summoned by the Bald Witch was sitting, lifeless, in a tray of blood. As I walked towards it, my shoes felt sticky on the floor — I looked down to discover that the floor was also covered in blood, and I’d stepped in it.
A character, some kind of bartender, entered at one point, followed by a couple of audience members. He busied himself, cleaning up the bar, filling up three shot glasses and placing them on the central table, ready for the witches’ return. He didn’t stay long, and eventually left.
I walked over to Hecate’s table and inspected the items on it. There was the wine bottle, along with the shot glasses she’d used to poison Agnes, but there was also a silver tray on it that I hadn’t noticed before, covered by a hinged cloche, which was locked on the non-hinged edge by a padlock.
As I stood there looking at the items, Hecate entered the bar again, flanked by six or seven audience members who’d followed her in (I was reasonably certain she’d gone out onto the street, and picked them up there).
She saw me as she entered, stopped momentarily, and smiled at me. Passing by me, she gently touched my hand, and sat down at her usual table again.
The other audience members and I formed a loose semi-circle around the opposite side of the table, as she produced a key from a necklace around her neck, and used it to unlock the cloche.
She looked at an audience member to my right, and another one to my left, and then at me.
She grinned at me, and without looking down, opened the cloche.
Inside it was some kind of raw meat. Liver, perhaps?
She picked up a set of cutlery wrapped in a napkin, unwrapped it, took out a knife and fork, laid the napkin on her lap, and began carving the meat, only briefly breaking eye contact with me to ensure she was cutting it properly.
She stabbed a massive piece of the meat with her fork, looked back at me again, and shoved it into her mouth.
We looked at each other the entire time, as she forcefully chewed the meat and swallowed it.
Without looking away, she stabbed a second piece, and shoved that into her mouth as well. She chewed it, and swallowed it, with difficulty this time.
There was something uncomfortably primal about it. Breathing heavily, and still looking me dead in the eye, she somewhat reluctantly picked up a third piece of the meat, and ate that too.
Her face contorted, like she was forcing herself to eat whilst already full. Her eyes squinted, watering, but never broke away from mine, as she forced herself to chew, and chew, and chew.
She started to retch, like she was choking on the raw liver that was filling her mouth, or about to vomit at any moment.
Eventually, she swallowed for a third time, smiled an incredibly satisfied smile at me, and parted her lips … to reveal that in between her teeth, was a golden ring.
Had it been in the meat?!
She dropped the knife and fork onto the table, and reached up, taking the ring out of her mouth. She used the napkin from her lap to wipe it clean, and then, with an almost curious look on her face …
… she extended her hand towards me.
This was amazing. I was totally down for all of this and whatever was about to happen next. I stepped forward, and placed my hand in hers.
Still sitting, she guided me to stand right next to her seat. This caused me to tower over her, and she looked up at me quizzically.
She picked up the knife that she’d used to carve the meat, used it to catch the light of one of the spotlights in the blade, and reflect it directly into my eyes.
I didn’t look away from her.
She smiled, and slid the golden ring onto my ring finger.
Part XIV: If That’s All There Is
For a long time, maybe a minute or so, we simply looked into each other’s eyes as she held my hand, me standing over her, while she looked up at me. After what felt like an eternity, she eventually reached down into a small purse, withdrew some lipstick, and applied it.
The music had begun to turn sour again. Her eyes narrowed — and then, she spoke.
But it wasn’t a woman’s voice. It was a distorted, demonic, man’s voice. Her lips were moving, but the sound was coming out of the walls, with an incredible amount of reverse reverb —
“I remember when I was a very little kid, our house caught on fire.”
It startled me a little, enough that I jumped. Her hand gripped mine a little tighter. My Apple Watch buzzed again, thinking I was having yet another heart attack.
“I’ll never forget the look on my father’s face as he grabbed me up in his arms and raced out of the burning building onto the pavement.”
Hold up. This sounded familiar?
Her expression was suddenly very concerned, like it was of the utmost importance that I understand what she was saying.
“I stood there, shivering in my underwear, and watched the whole world go up in flames.”
She stood up, still holding my hand tightly, and walked me over to the stage.
“And when it was all over, I said to myself, is that all there is to a fire?”
Hecate stood up onto the platform, and with her free hand, grabbed the birdcage microphone, and began to sing a male version of Is That All There Is, whilst holding onto my hand the entire time, looking deeply into my eyes — serenading me.
Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is
The voice became less demonic-reverb and more normal, and settled into the voice of a male I was sure I’d heard before (I later found out it was a Tony Bennett rendition of the song).
And when I was 12 years old, my father took me to the circus, the greatest show on earth.
There were clowns and elephants and dancing bears
And a beautiful lady in pink tights flew high above our heads.
And as I sat there watching the marvelous spectacle
I had the feeling that something was missing.
I don’t know what, but when it was over,
I said to myself, “Is that all there is to a circus?”
This was absolutely the same song that I’d watched Boy Witch sing, two floors below. The realisation hit me that he was probably down there, right now, singing the exact same song, and that he and Hecate had somehow magically switched voices.
Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is
She began to swing my hand here, like we were walking together, a happy couple:
Then I fell in love, with the most wonderful girl in the world.
We would take long walks by the river or just sit for hours gazing into each other’s eyes.
We were so very much in love.
Then one day, she left me. And I thought I’d die — but I didn’t.
And when I didn’t I said to myself, “Is that all there is to love?”
And here, she let go of my hand, and began to cry, whilst still not taking her eyes off me.
Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Mascara began to run down her face. Without doing anything, I’d somehow managed to break her heart. She reached inside her dress and pulled out a tissue. She wiped underneath her eyes, her black eye makeup staining the tissue.
I know what you must be saying to yourselves.
If that’s the way he feels about it why doesn’t he just end it all?
Oh, no. Not me. I’m in no hurry for that final disappointment.
For I know just as well as I’m standing here talking to you,
when that final moment comes and I’m breathing my last breath, I’ll be saying to myself,
She smiled at me once again, took my hand, and finished the song:
Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing
Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is
When it was finished, Hecate stepped down off the stage, and took my masked face in her hands. She kissed my mask, making sure to leave a very obvious lipstick mark on it, and then hugged me tightly.
Bringing her lips close to my ear, she whispered:
“Thank you.”
She slipped the tissue into my hand, and then left the room.
I stood there, stunned. I looked down at the ring on my finger.
I think … I just got married to a goddess?
Part XV: Next Time
After the show was over, Michael and I met back at our reserved table in the Manderley. I held up my hand with the ring on it.
“I got married,” I said.
“So did I,” he said, holding up his hand, which also had a golden ring on it.
The trip had indeed been successful, for both of us — I’d achieved my main objective for the night, but in that same time, Michael had been lucky enough to have four one-on-ones on the same night with various different characters in quick succession, after three years of visiting The McKittrick without any.
I watched with astonishment as he showed me all of the artefacts he’d picked up that night — the ring on his hand (which he sourced in a completely different way to how I acquired mine, from a different character), a necklace made of red thread with a tiny Virgin Mary medallion, a small origami boat made out of a folded up playing card, and his mask, which, like mine, had been modified by a character; a streak of blood ran down the middle of it.
We excitedly swapped stories over the course of the next hour, while we sat listening to live jazz and trying various cocktails (I defaulted to the single non-alcoholic option pretty quickly).
“So, you didn’t make it up to the sixth floor?” he asked.
“Nah. It would’ve been amazing, but I’m okay with it not happening.”
“That sucks! You were all set up, too. You were first off the lift!”
“Yeah. I thought for sure the first person to try the stairs would’ve been let through. I guess not.”
“Then how are you supposed to get up there?”
“I have no idea.”
“Ah well,” he smiled. “Next time, eh?”
I smiled back.
Next time indeed.
