The sound of thunder echoed around us.

Nicholas and I gazed at each other, shadows dancing across our faces as the fireplace flickered wildly in the dark.

The storm outside was brewing and a draft of cold air threatened to blow out the flame of the candelabras placed throughout the room. Instead, it only sent a shiver down my spine and across my legs.

I sat with them crossed, exposed and glowing in the fire's light. My black dress cascaded around me in my wingback chair, the slit in my skirt riding up my thigh. I would have chosen to wear something warmer but it wasn't up to me this particular night. My husband insisted I wear this one, as tonight was important—and that required dressing for the occasion. So I sat, looking as graceful as possible, as I lifted an arm laced in black and extended my fingers towards him.

He turned to me, a glass of spirits in his hand. I twirled a strand of blonde hair that had fallen from my coiffure, hoping to persuade him to come closer. As anticipated, he set down his glass on the side table and walked over to me. He grasped my hand with his, the soft paleness of his skin contrasting with the cherry red polish on my nails. His hand was slightly warmer than mine, but the feeling only lasted a moment. Then he let go, dropping his hand by his side and sauntering back towards the mantelpiece.

A flash of light lit up the room, followed immediately by another clap of thunder.

The chill had set back in.

I glanced tensely up at his face, his blonde hair slicked back to showcase his sharp cheekbones and chiseled jawline. A brisk white collar popped up from his black suit matching in intensity with my dress. I wondered if he had purposely coordinated our attire but then I paused. I didn't have to wonder—of course he had.

Making an impression was important to him. He desired to be held highly in our society, and he was. Others admired him, ready to please, and his opinions were continually sought after—especially when it came to his sense of fashion. Guests always dressed according to how he would approve, hoping to gain favor with their host and earn further invitations to our manor, though this was often accompanied by a desire for something in return. These invitations to dinner parties, however, were never declined, as nobody dared forfeit the opportunity to sit at my husband's table as an honored guest—that is, unless they were on their death bed, which most likely had been caused by their generous host.

This was the reason for the chill in the room tonight. He was distant and when there was a crease in his brow and a glass of liquor in his hand, I knew to leave him alone. There was a specific motive for the impeccable attire and cause for my husband's moodiness. He was plotting to commit murder.

Our manor was filled with macabre traps everywhere you stepped, but of course, Nicholas and I knew of them all and where not to place your feet. The servants were aware of some but even they were oblivious as to the purpose of our revolving walls and collapsing floors. Our butler, however, had been growing stranger by the day—something that concerned my husband as well.

Speaking of which, our butler entered the drawing room. "Sir, the guests have arrived," he said in a slow, monotonous tone.

"Thank you, Jeeves," Nicholas replied. "Let them in."

After the butler turned curtly and left, my husband walked smoothly to the center of the room. I adjusted my large white collar as I rose from my seat and joined him, prompting him to turn to me and smile. He offered his arm to me, his earlier anxiety having melted away. Now that it was showtime, he was ready to be the debonair host he always was.

The guests began to filter into the room, platinum blondes swaying their hips towards the champagne and plump, old men hobbling after them despite their snooty wives beside them. A handful of younger men were in attendance, catching glances from the old men's mistresses and wives. I was almost certain everyone was having an affair with someone else in this crowd, which only added more tension to the mysterious atmosphere.

As the butler and other servants moved about the room to serve champagne, my husband and I greeted our guests warmly. The old men shook my husband's hand vigorously with a broad smile showing their joy of being in his house again, while the blondes on their shoulder batted their fake eyelashes. I extended my hand to the wives, which received a polite but curt handshake and a slight nod of the head. If anyone knew what was going on in this room, it was them.

And so the party was underway. A small orchestra placed in the corner of the room began to play soft music, while silently judging those they played for. Silver platters of food were now being brought out and carried around with the champagne, and the chatter grew louder and merrier.

Nicholas and I turned to each other, a smirk across his face and a pleased gaze in his kohl-lined eyes. I could sense his plan was ready and he was confident it would succeed as it always had. He held a mysterious air as he interacted with me, and I knew it was part of the game. He entertained himself in knowing that not even I could name who his victim was and that everyone, including me, would play a part.

However, the party was disrupted when a young man and woman stumbled into the manor. The doors swung open clumsily and everyone turned towards the intrusion. Our new arrivals gaped at us, mesmerized by the room's Edwardian décor while quickly losing our other guests' interests.

The boy wore a double-breasted suit and sweater vest with fluffy hair and thick glasses. An interesting exchange of acknowledgment passed between him and our butler as he walked by with the champagne. The boy's head followed the tray in delight, but quickly, an older woman in arm with a younger man walked by and handed him her full glass—perhaps assuming he was a servant. Confusion appeared on his face but was replaced with satisfaction as he shifted his weight. Meanwhile, his date, wearing a brightly colored dress with matching gloves, marveled at the grandeur and wandered away from her escort.

My husband and I glanced at each other, both confused by the strangers. But a playful expression danced across his face and he turned back to the guest we were speaking with. His disregard for the intruders told me he was not disturbed but rather excited by having more people to play in his game—and it was likely they would become key actors.

However, a sudden rushing noise met our ears and I turned to see several arrows lodged in the wall. The boy and his date were nowhere to be seen until he stood up from picking up a handkerchief. His nose bumped into an arrow and he stepped back in surprise.

Nicholas casually watched him, unfazed by what had just occurred, while I attempted to determine who had been the intended victim. There were a few in the vicinity of the assassination attempt, but all could have equally been the one whose murder my husband pursued.

I felt a hand on my arm. "Come, darling," Nicholas said in my ear. He linked arms with me and led us to the wingback chairs we had been sitting in earlier. He added, "Try to get that boy over here."

"What about the girl?" I replied as we sat across from each other.

"She disappeared behind a wall already," he said. "Now we deal with him. You know what to do."

"Of course."

I peered back to see the boy glancing at us—he was right where I wanted him. Then I slid my hand seductively along the armrest. As intended, it was enough to make the boy curious and he walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. He propped his arm up on the mantelpiece and rose his glass to his lips, glancing between us. Nicholas placed his face in his hand for a moment, as he observed our awkward and unsophisticated guest. Then, he lowered his arm down the side of his chair and pressed a button, causing the confused boy—still holding his glass to his lips—to disappear with the revolving fireplace.

Nicholas rose from his chair. "That should take care of him," he said, turning his attention back to his guests.

Just in time, the butler stood by the door and announced, "Dinner is served." Everyone gathered around the long table and took their assigned seating—always a crucial step in my husband's plot.

Dinner began pleasantly, as guests chatted joyfully in between the intricate candelabras and flower bouquets from the garden placed on the table. Nicholas' spirits rose as well and he conversed and laughed with the guests as if he didn't have a care in the world—but it made sense with the intruders out of the way.

However, we had only finished the first course when Nicholas tapped my thigh under the table. He leaned closer to my ear. "Did you see that?" he said, amusement in his voice. "Lady Ainsworth just passed a little bottle to our housekeeper."

"What do you think that's for?" I replied.

"I'm not quite sure, but it appears we aren't the only sinister ones at this table." Then he leaned away, ending the conversation.

Suddenly, pounding was heard from the upstairs balcony and everyone looked to see the boy had managed to find his way back to the party. I giggled, looking at my husband, as he realized his means of getting rid of him weren't enough for our clumsily talented guest. Then, much to our amazement, the boy grabbed hold of the rope meant to pull back our large velvet curtains and swung off the staircase. Gasps were heard around the table, as well as exclamations from our butler as he stumbled back to avoid him. Instead, the boy crashed into the tall balcony doors, the sound of shattering glass filling our ears. Another house repair, I thought disappointedly.

Nicholas, however, remained collected and now that our interruption was outside, he stood and walked to the other door. Opening it, he released the hounds and they darted past to find their target. The sounds of barking and screaming were heard, but my husband turned away untroubled by the commotion and disappeared into another room. The guests resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened.

When Nicholas came back to the party only moments later, I inquired about where he had gone.

"Oh, some stranger was offering some sort of contract," he said with a shrug. "I closed the door on him."

Having recovered from his traumatization, the butler, along with the other servants, began to collect the salad plates. They carried out platters of steaming bowls of soup and placed them before us. We had only eaten a few spoonfuls when a loud crash came from upstairs, causing the chandelier above us to rattle. Then suddenly, the source of the noise came plummeting through the ceiling. It was a bathtub, which held a woman in only a shower cap and our notorious boy. He stood up and shook the water from his tattered suit and hair, before pulling out a chair at the table and sitting beside me.

"Darling, you may want to get up for this one," my husband said.

I stood, understanding his meaning, and brushed the water off my sleeve where the boy had gotten a little too close. After I stepped away, Nicholas motioned with his index finger for the boy to move closer. When he leaned forward, my husband placed his hand on the back of the boy's head and smashed it into my soup. The butler, who stood behind him, gaped at the spectacle, missing his own impending doom. Instantly, a poisoned dart flew out from the taxidermied tiger's head and into the butler's stomach. A shocked expression appeared on his face as he grasped at the dart. But it was too late and he fell backwards with a thud.

As our butler lied motionless on the floor, Nicholas resumed drinking his champagne. His being undisturbed by our own butler's death told me he had expected it to happen—if not planned it himself. Knowing my husband's ways, I realized he had figured out the butler was in on the conspiracy. I remembered the exchange between him and the boy. Something was suspicious and our butler was certainly not on our side. And, of course, there's only one thing to do with a disloyal and betraying butler—murder him.

The boy stood up in shock, soup covering his face and glasses, and tripped over the butler. Nicholas watched him, a smile growing on his face as he took a device in his hand and turned the dial. Realizing he had stepped in an unfortunate place, the boy looked down before the floor gave way, causing him to slide down the shaft and out of sight.

Dinner was now officially ruined and the guests were in a bad mood. Silence fell upon the room and a fat, old man by the name of Lord Ainsworth took off his eyeglass and spoke up. "My good sir, you just let your butler get killed. It's murder, I say."

"Yes, I know," Nicholas replied calmly. "Unfortunately, I recently discovered he was disloyal—and we know how hurtful it is to be betrayed." He rose his glass to his lips.

"By Jove—well, I suppose you're right," Lord Ainsworth replied with a nervous laugh, glancing at the dark gaze of my husband.

"Is there a problem?" Nicholas said.

"Uh, no," he replied with another laugh.

"Good." My husband smiled. "Would everyone like to play a game?"

The guests responded to my husband's friendly invitation with excited chatter and we stood up, moving to the side of the room. Chairs had been placed in a circle, all facing outward away from each other.

"Darling, you may have the honor of being the first player," Nicholas said, taking me to the center of the circle as everyone sat down.

He always enjoyed giving me a key performance in the climax of his murders, so I knew we were close to the finish. Calm but not without anticipation, I stood as Nicholas tied a blindfold over my eyes and spun me around. Then I felt him leave my side.

The guests around me gasped and any gleam of light peeking through my blindfold disappeared. Then someone confirmed my suspicion, muttering in a fearful voice that the power had gone out. A bright flash and a clap of thunder followed, startling me as the balcony doors flew open with a slam. The wind came rushing in, colder than before.

The storm was brewing again.

I continued with the game, finding my way to the edge of the circle. As I felt someone's hair and tried to determine who it was, the wind began to swirl wildly around me and I found myself becoming more disoriented than before. The person I touched had moved and I felt someone stand beside me. Sensing that something was wrong, as this wasn't how the game was played, I lifted my blindfold to see the guests writhing in pain around me. My husband and the boy, whose hair had been fried as if by electrocution, stood beside me in the middle of the circle but neither appeared to be in pain. However, in the next instant, everyone collapsed—some remaining in their chairs and others plopping to the floor. I gaped at my husband, lying dead at my feet, and then at the others around me.

I was alone with the storm.

But then my husband moved—an arm shifted just slightly. Quickly, the rest of his body followed as he stood up and straightened his suit. The boy also rose from the floor, ragged but somehow alive.

Nicholas turned his attention to the astonishment on my face. "Darling, I hope I never fail to entertain you. The theatrics are all for you, of course. But I'm sure you're wondering what just happened. Well, you see, while you were blindfolded, I had ordered one of the maids to pass a cup around the circle. All the guests obliged, but what a horrible mistake that was." He glanced around the floor. "This boy here," he continued, gesturing to our gawky visitor, "was placed in the middle of a complicated plot. My honored victim this evening heard about my scheme from our ever-so-loyal butler and invited him here to unknowingly disrupt my plans, as you saw every trap was released but unsuccessful. His wife, however, wanted him murdered as well and attempted to remove this boy—uh, what's your name?"

"Simon," he replied.

"Yes—remove him from the situation—with poison. Hence, the reason why we saw Lady Ainsworth handing the little bottle to our housekeeper. I, too, attempted to get Simon out of my plan's way, but he managed somehow to survive every trap. After realizing suspicion was being raised in our victim and other guests, I decided it was time for the final act—poisoning the unknowing guests in a game—that's always a good time to commit murder since everyone's guards are down—with the very poison Lady Ainsworth had used. That's why I chose you, my dear, to be blindfolded to keep you out of the mess. I also commissioned Simon in the very end to play in the fun—collapsing to the floor with the guests. You know I like giving you a little scare once in a while." A smirk danced on his face before he looked around again. "Well, let us leave this mess. Come, darling. Simon, will you join us?"

We began to leave the room and exited the mansion, my husband's words still lingering in my head as I placed the events together. Then suddenly, I realized the cruelty of his joke—pretending to be dead!

I turned to the two men walking beside me and slapped them both across the cheek, receiving equal expressions of surprise.

To be continued...?

----------

Thank you for reading this crazy, weird story!

This was a difficult piece to write, as none of it makes any sense (see video) and I had a word limit since I entered it in a contest. I would have liked to build out the story and characters even more, but maybe that's an idea for an alternate version...some other day... :)