Her jeweled pendant glittered brightly in the candlelight. From across the room, he gauged the karat value to be low. "Costume jewelry," he thought to himself, "in a place like this? Like a band-aid on a gun wound. Completely obvious."

He walked over to security and pointed her out, but they made no move to remove her. "She's the host, sir," one of the guards told him, "you happen to be standing in her dining area. I suggest you leave if you have an issue." The look on the guard's face said he would be more than happy to assist the gentleman out the door.

Putting his hands up, bowing slightly at the waist, the gentleman backed away from the security guards. Turning on his heel, he headed towards the woman with the false pendant, "So, this pretty little thing can throw a shindig like she is of high society.She can obviously play the part, just not accessorize properly? "

As he got closer to the woman in question, he began to notice a heavy perfume in the area, as if one of the ladies had applied it much too liberally.

"Hello, m'lady," he said when he was within speaking distance. He extended his hand, bowed slightly, and waited, and waited, and waited. After what seemed like more than enough time had passed for the lady to accept his hand, the gentleman looked up, and much to his dismay got a closer look at his hostess.

Her skin was far too pale, her eyes sewn open, her mouth held into a smile with some sort of wire.More wires held her arms in place and it appeared as though a metal rod went into her back, connecting to a steel plate on the floor, keeping her upright.

Reeling backwards in horror, he looked around him, seeking someone to help him, how did no one notice? This woman is dead, strung up like a turkey on display in a butcher’s window. He watched as another couple approached the dead hostess, the man wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her cold flesh, once on each cheek, while the woman exclaimed, “Why, Janice, this is the best party I’ve ever been to, you must do this more often,” before they both walked back to the bar area.

Horrified beyond reasoning, thinking only of his own sanity slipping between his fingers like sand in an hourglass, he stood up, tugged on his sleeves, turned to his unexpected hostess and said, “Well, Janice, is it? I think I am going to take my leave. Please, don’t invite me to the next one.”

Without looking back, he slipped out the front door and into the night.

Recommendations

More from Jessica Loewe