Why do patrons from opening night in 1927 still occupy the corner booth? What song makes the chandelier sway when no music plays? Which performer never leaves the dressing room mirror? And why does the piano play melodies that drive listeners to weep uncontrollably?
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What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play! Life is a Cabaret, old chum! Come to the Cabaret!
― Fred Ebb
The Velvet Room had always been Marcus’s favorite escape from the gray monotony of his accounting work. The cabaret’s red velvet walls and golden fixtures promised glamour and excitement that his daytime world sorely lacked. But tonight, something felt different about the familiar establishment.
As the evening progressed, Marcus noticed the other patrons seemed oddly entranced, their eyes glazed as they watched the performers. The dancers moved with an unnatural grace, their limbs bending at impossible angles, their smiles too wide for human faces. The music box melody that accompanied their routine seemed to burrow into his skull.
When the lights dimmed for the final act, Marcus tried to leave, but found his legs wouldn’t obey. On stage, the lead performer began to shed what he had assumed was an elaborate costume. The crowd applauded as layers of false flesh peeled away, revealing something that had never been human at all.
The last thing Marcus remembered before his vision went black was the sound of his own hands clapping enthusiastically, though he couldn’t recall commanding them to do so. When morning came, the cleaning staff would find another empty seat, and the management would quietly remove his name from the reservation book, just as they had done so many times before.
