Jenny has never been to a murder mystery weekend, so has no idea what to expect. She and Will have only been dating a few weeks, and the invite came from friends of his whom Jenny has not yet met.
‘You’ll love Daemon and Bella D – we always call her that, no idea what the D stands for – they’re a lot of fun and wait ’til you see their house.’
The house is indeed worth the long, snowy drive to the north.
They drive through massive iron gates set in high mossy stone walls, Gryphons, wings outstretched, sit atop tall pillars. A dim light glows in the tiny gatehouse although the gates operate automatically, with no need even for a key code.
The drive, bordered by massive white-iced rhododendron drooping in the cold, sends Jenny’s heart pit pattering.
But the house sends it thumping.
‘It’s very, um, gothic,’ she murmurs, pushing down the queasiness in her stomach thinking about the reason they’re here.
‘Great, isn’t it?’ Will grins the charming grin Jenny fell for those weeks ago.
She forces a laugh. ‘It’s certainly the right setting.’
‘Sure is?’ Will slides from the car, still grinning, and goes to the boot to fetch their baggage.
Which includes the white dress Jenny was told to pack as her costume for the game. Is she to be a bride? The thought sent tingles up her spinsterish spine, but she’s chosen carefully. Not bridal at all, more … well, virginal. She giggled at the time.
Now, after a meet and greet with the other guests and a fine and alcoholic dinner, Jenny sits in her virginal gown in what was once a family chapel at the rear of the great house. It’s chilly and she wishes she had a shawl, had worn warmer shoes. No time to fetch them. The game is about to start.
Daemon strides to the front, summoning Will as he goes. He hands Will a large, leather bound book. Jenny strains to see in the candlelight. The writing is large, looped, and faded.
Will begins the ritual, which is written in the back of the book.
The words are unintelligible, a mellifluous flow which goes for a long time, all the while seeping into Jenny’s head, and then her soul … so that when Will commands her, she obeys, stands, no longer aware of the cold, and walks slowly towards him, towards the bier laid on the altar, draped in a deep red cloth …
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WILL BEGINS THE RITUAL, IT WAS SCRIPTED AT THE BACK OF THE BOOK
“Look at this,” laughed Will, dusting off the old journal he had found in his grandmother’s attic. “Must have been up there for years, though Gran never mentioned it.”
Maureen grasped the book Will passed her and began thumbing through the yellowing pages.
“Seems to contain a series of incantations and spells,” she said. “Was your grandmother a witch or something?”
“Not that I know,” replied Will. “Mum never mentioned anything and Gran never talked about those sorts of things when she was alive.”
“Strange,” commented Maureen. “Some of these phrases are pretty weird.”
“Show me,” said Will, as Maureen handed the journal to him.
“Bubble, toil and trouble,” he began reading. “Sounds like something from Shakespeare’s Macbeth.”
Maureen laughed.
“Does, doesn’t it? Wonder why she bothered to keep all these and if she ever used them?”
The two long-time friends touched heads as they pored over the pages. Finally, they were nearing the finish.
Will suddenly paused.
“Get a load of this one,” he said. “It looks like some sort of ritual. How about we carry it out just for a bit of a laugh.”
Maureen nodded, fascinated at the words rising from the page.
Gathering the items mentioned in faded ink, Will begins the ritual scripted at the back of the book.
“And ye will rise up from the bowels of the earth on the anointed day and seek the unclean for eternal damnation,” he intones. “Their souls will be forever cast into the eternal fires of hell to writhe in blistering agony.”
At the same time, Will gently rubs the old aluminium saucepan he has retrieved from the kitchen. The air is filled with the scent of herbs and spices he had found in his mother’s pantry and scattered randomly around the room. Both he and Maureen are sitting cross legged in the centre of a makeshift circle formed by various articles of clothing taken from his wardrobe.
Silence follows his incantation as both wait expectantly.
“Do you see that?” gasps Maureen.
“See what?” queries Will.
“That, there, that smoke, r..r..rising from the saucepan.”
“Oh yeah,” Will unbelieving begins to clamber to his feet.
“Wh…who’s there? Who are you?” he splutters, beginning to pale.
“It’s Gran,” the smoke replies. “I knew if you found the diary you’d summon me from the grave.”
“H..how could you know that?” Will now totally nonplussed and visibly frightened.
“You always were a curious child,” his grandmother explains, “and you could never resist a new adventure.”
By now Gran had fully materialised in front of them. Rather than being happy to see her, Will was worried, a frown crinkling his forehead.
“What on earth am I going to tell Mum,” he moans, as Gran laughs delightedly.
Seems like Will got Jenny to the weekend under false pretenses. A murder mystery weekend that appears to have morphed into a demonic ritual where Jenny is the intended sacrifice/victim. Very scary. Hope she survives.
Nah – they’ll plunge a dagger through her heart …