Presents...

An account by Richard Bird

It was a dark night without the stars or the moon. Also it was a night without most of the guests, thanks to the wonders of late night traffic on the M6. Eventually, though, everyone turned up and the party of John Boyd, our host, went into full swing. Apple bobbing, freshly cooked food, oat cakes, and that famous game of biting-an-apple-on-a-string all made an appearance at the Halloween get-together and most were enjoying themselves, despite John putting a dampener on things by recounting a tale about a relative of his who was murdered in this house in the past. It was a strange thing to make conversation about, but then again it was the least of our worries as it turned out.

   Once the mingling started names were put to faces. There was Jacob Lisescu, Bernard Corbett, George Stephenson, Ramez Hamade, Reeve Waters (and his ghost-detecting equipment that had flashing lights and all), Paul Anderson (not the DJ.), Matthew Sharp, Dawn Winter (or Florence Nightingale as she soon became know as), James Swift (and his camera), Shane Sloat (and his camera), Cynthia 'just call me China' Jones, Michael James (an 'Accountant'), Vicki Damen (who could feel many troubled spirits in the house. There were some outside as well but they just phoned instead...), and Roger Longthrope, a mortician who appeared to enjoy his work far too much. Also there was Mr. Slaughter (who had the look of someone in charge and had the dice to prove it), Mr. Caesar (who apparently has thin, hairy legs. It's a long story...), the Rev. Derek Cummings (who had the look of someone who wasn't going to live very long...), and finally Anthea Galsworthy, who had an almost supernatural knack of making people nervous.

The party changed gear once everyone had gotten to know one another. John whipped out his crystal ball and lucky heather and was doing tarot card readings in the lounge, much to peoples' delight ('According to Boyd I'm going to meet a dark, older woman who's going to get me into trouble. Alrighty!'). A queue soon formed in the hall, guests eager to be given a glimpse of the future. Actually, that's not quite true - it just offered a convenient way of avoiding the mortician in the kitchen ('Do you have any funeral arrangements, Sir?'). It was going to be a long night...

Then things turned odd - well, odder - and a bit more sinister as well. Derek became ill, and at first everyone blamed John's cooking. It was his fault as it turned out, but it more because he had marked him with ashes, as he had done to everyone ('It's all part of the fun' he said. My eye it was). We all became honourable members of his family, which wasn't as nice as it sounds because, due to a curse, all members of his bloodline were due to die in the next couple of days. John had done it so the approaching doom would have other targets to look for before reaching him.

The party kinda ran out of steam at that point.

Unfortunately, members of his real family would immediately suffer as soon as they were marked, much to Rev. Cummings' surprise, who didn't even know he was related. Boyd still had plans for him and they weren't pleasant ones. Pulling out a gun (which was a bit rude), he dragged the poor semi-unconscious vicar into the night. That was the last time we saw him again (sort of). However, we had a good idea what had happened when John turned up with his hands covered in blood. The sight of the gun appeared to unnerve people more than the blood, especially the accountant who, like all accountants, pulled out enough armament to take on America and win. Unfortunately, his sanity had taken a bit of a beating and it was some time before he was able to enter the house again with Boyd in it. What he feared when he had that much weaponry God only knows.

  John, meanwhile, was all a bit non-plus about his actions, even going so far as to offer a number of explanations for what he'd done. No one knew quite what to do - shooting your host at a party is considered impolite - but a decision was made once Boyd started chanting and smoke appeared from his hands. As he mumbled on about the house going back in time he was bundled and chained up (which someone just 'happened' to have).

   Confusion was the key word. After all, what was going on? Was it just some party game no one had ever heard of before? It was a weird one if it was. Everyone finally went to bed shrugging their shoulders (but barricading their doors none-the-less).

   Later that night the most God-awful sound pierced the silence. People investigated the noise but the source couldn't be found, though a trail of green slime covered the path and the door handles. The cacophony started again as soon as everyone retired and continued deep into the night. It appeared that time travel was for insomniacs.