Its been really cold. Like realllllly cold recently. I had to go and get some new gloves because one got chewed up last winter, and I splurged and bought a very nice, very expensive pair of brown leather gloves with a fur liner. I know fur is taboo or whatever but they are so warm and comfy. I also finally am having some fun. There was a note slipped under my door inviting me to be a detective in a Winthrop place murder mystery dinner on the 7th floor. I love mysteries which is a reason I became a journalist in the first place, so I am actually excited about this dinner. I dressed up in a suit like the note said to and went up the creaky elevator at 8:18, an odd time but then again the whole idea was a bit odd. I saw some of my neighbors and some people I recognized but couldn't name. The host greeted me at the door, introducing himself as Sep with a firm handshake. I made some small talk with a few friends and settled into a seat near Ed Banks
"Do you know what this is all about?" I asked him.
"Im just as in the dark as you, this is pretty stange," he replied.
"all I know is that my character that I'm representing is better than my real life," he laughed. "I'm now a a husband to the rich housewife. Thats a major upgrade!"
I chuckled and was about to ask him about his kids when the sound of metal on glass ran through the room.
Ding Ding Ding Ding
"Please may I have your attention, I am happy to be hosting this dinner and just wanted to invite us all to share our names around the table so everyone can at least have an idea of who everyone else is," The man named Sep said.
We went around saying names like a first grade class.
"Alright," he said as we finished, "lets ea–"
The room flashed white and then went completely black, total darkness.
"eat" he finished. "well folks I dont know what just happened but–"
The lights flickered back on and next to the table laid the circus master. He was pale and looked fragile like a porcelain doll. Blood was smeared across his brow and someone gasped. Sep looked on, mouth still open, with a distant look on his face. I pulled out my notepad and started scribbling the events furiously. Now the fun of the murder mystery dinner vanished and the horror of seeing a real dead person sunk in for the people around me. They hadnt been to the morgue to look at dead bodies and interview the postmortem examiners. I took notes on everything, each persons expression and the reactions and the set up of the room.
Someone called the police because soon they came and ushered people out and put take across the door to the 7th floor and people talked in hushed voices about their predictions of what happened and how it was a sick joke by a secret Winthrop killer, or it was the same person who left the pool of blood or whatever the theory of the moment was.
I used my credentials to get back up but they wouldn't let me see anymore and I could only talk to the boring police spokesperson who always gave the same, scripted account of every crime. It was useless, I would have to wait for the press release.