By Late Night Writings
The pungent odor of the bodies wafted from one side of the room to the other, into the vent and upwards through the entire ventilation system, filling the cliffside estate with the putrid scent of his rotting corpse. The windows were barred and the doors were somehow completely impenetrable. The one potential exit that remained was off the widow’s walk, where Thomas had attempted to climb down, but quickly and unfortunately discovered that the heavy downpour and harsh sea winds had made that route of escape far too dangerous. Mangled in the thorns and covered by soggy dead leaves in the garden below, his body reminded the few people who remained that escaping was not an option. In the three days they had been there, it seemed that they hadn’t come any closer to unmasking Doctor Horn’s killer. Hanging from an elk’s antlers mounted above the fireplace, his dead eyes stared down at the home’s guests. The house who lured its suspects inside and promised to open its doors to whoever uncovered the identity of its lover’s murderer. The guests who sat down, who gave up after frantically searching for anything that could lead them to the truth, and accepted their reality - that their careers in finance and marketing were no help in this scenario and that they would be killed by a house in less than four hours. They would not find Doctor Horn’s killer before the fourth midnight.
