The air in the room was heavy and damp. It had the distinct smell that older houses
tended to have, something stale and soured by too many years. Early-modernist paintings
decorated the walls, each depicting a few somber people sitting around a dining table. The
people in the paintings appeared stoic, despite having gluttonous amounts of food
surrounding them. There was ne’er a happy smile to be seen amongst the guests, both real
and painted.
tended to have, something stale and soured by too many years. Early-modernist paintings
decorated the walls, each depicting a few somber people sitting around a dining table. The
people in the paintings appeared stoic, despite having gluttonous amounts of food
surrounding them. There was ne’er a happy smile to be seen amongst the guests, both real
and painted.
There were five guests total. Each side of the table had enough chairs for three people,
with the one closest to the door remaining empty. The host stood at the head of the table with
his back hunched as he cut into the oozing apple pie. The pie knife clanked and scraped
against the metal plate, letting out a painful clunk-skree every few seconds. This was the only
sound that could be heard in the dining room— save for some uncomfortable shuffling.
When the last piece of pie was placed on the last ceramic plate, the host stood up and
smiled. It was a toothy, gummy grin that was just a little too wide and a little too long. Arthur
De’olare, one of the guests nearest to the host, cleared his throat and averted his eyes.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” the host began. “I’m glad that you were all
willing to consider my works. I’ve labored over these paintings for years, so please
understand why I am so hesitant to part with them.”
The host paused, eyes lingering on the painting directly behind Arthur. The people in
the painting were all wearing clothes from the mid-1920’s, sharply contrasting the older
painting style the host preferred.
The host pressed his thin lips together, making them disappear almost entirely. There
was something distant in his gaze, and it was hard to tell if he was looking at the painting
with adulation or abhorrence. Without turning his eyes to his guests, he continued. “I will not
part with them for just anyone. I would like someone who… truly desires these works.”
part with them for just anyone. I would like someone who… truly desires these works.”
Unnoticed by the guests, a small man entered the room. He was petite both in stature
and in aura, sliding between the large ornate doors. He slid behind Miss Horlag with a tray of
tea. Her tiny teacup let out a soft clunk when he set it on the table, and she jumped backwards
in surprise. The sudden motion caused her napkin to fall from her lap, and she bent over to
retrieve it, softly apologizing all of the while.
The host’s eyes wandered from the painting for a mere moment as he watched her
shaky hand emerge from under the table. She parted the tablecloth and gripped the table as
she ducked under, trying to avoid hitting her head. It was dark in the room, and the cotton
cloth further extinguished any light that may have existed under the table. Before she grabbed
her napkin, her fingers brushed across something metallic and cold, sending shivers down her
spine. The darkness, permeated only by the slightest light, felt oppressive. She darted back
into her seat.
The petite man continued around the table, placing cups of earl gray in front of the
guests. There was no milk or sugar offered, and when the small man was done placing the
cups on the table, he excused himself to the corner of the room. Four watchful eyes observed
their host. He had a reputation for being temperamental and strange. His eyes were on Miss
Horlag, who’s eyes were fixed firmly on the table.
He licked his lips before speaking, pulling them slightly into his mouth to wet them.
“I invited you all here to play a game. The winner gets to leave with a painting of their
choice, free of charge.”
Mulaney, a guest seated to the left of the host, sat up a little straighter. For the past ten
minutes, his hands had been restless in his lap, endlessly fidgeting. He wrung them faster
now. His eyes shifted. He looked at the painting furthest from the host. It showcased people
from the late 1800’s. Their outfits were painted in vibrant greens and golds. Legend had it
that the host used real gold in this painting.
that the host used real gold in this painting.
Mulaney wasn’t the only person excited by this prospect. Conway, who had not
moved since the host had started talking, had his eyes on a painting from 1968— it was the
only painting that had a date signed in the corner.
The room remained silent, even as the guest’s eyes started to wander about. Only a
few moments had passed, but due to the host’s preference for dramatic pauses, those
moments felt like an eternity.
The host turned to the small man. “I think it’s time to start the game, don’t you?”
The man winced when the host addressed him. He quickly walked over to the 1920’s
painting, removing it from the wall. The back of the painting hid several documents, each
with a different puzzle. The small man began handing them out, first to Arthur, then to
Conway, Amelia, Miss Horlag, and Mulaney. When he made it to the side of the host, he
pulled out a chair for him. The host stiffly lowered himself into the chair, leaning ever so
slightly over the table. He brought his head to a rest in his hand, looking at the guests
expectantly.
Amelia was the first to start reading. Mere seconds passed before she flipped to the
second page, then the third. She pushed her square glasses up her nose as she squinted at the
papers. Her glasses were broken behind one ear, barely held together with tan tape.
Conway rested his hand on his documents, but did not open them. Everyone except
Amelia kept their eyes on their host.
The host smiled slightly, “Do read the documents. I’m not very patient.”
Miss Horlag held the papers so tightly that they crumpled slightly under her hands.
The first document had large, curvy lettering. The host had chosen a cursive font that was
slightly hard to read, but one could make out the words:
“Each of you will know me by a different name, for a different reason. If you wish to
earn one of my paintings, you must learn my true and only name.”
earn one of my paintings, you must learn my true and only name.”
The second page contained some odd lettering, uncharacteristic of the English language. The
third page was even stranger, containing strings of seemingly random, repeating numbers.
Conway read them more slowly, making it part way through the second page before
clearing his throat and asking, “Are these some kind of code?”
The host opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Amelia jumped in. “Yes, I
think so.” Immediately after speaking, she stiffened and looked at the host.
The host didn’t say anything. He stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused.
Amelia looked at Conway and continued, speaking slowly, “I think the names he gave
us might be relevant to the game. My letter was signed by a Mr. Enesra.”
Miss Horlag’s eyes swung from her paper to the young Amelia. Her grip on the
documents loosened, ever so lightly.
Conway’s graying brows lowered. He considered Amelia’s words for a moment, and
then spoke to the host. “Are there clues around the room?”
The host did not move.
Conway asked again, “Could there be clues in this room?”
This time, the petite man walked over to Conway and pulled on Conway’s jacket
slightly. Conway was the least dressed-up of all the guests, simply wearing a black turtleneck
and a jean jacket. He looked to the smaller man, who barely came up to his neck in height
despite the fact that Conway was sitting down. “Do you want my attention? Speak.”
The petite man shook his head, then gave another slight tug and pointed at the wall.
Amelia had been watching avidly. “I think—” She abruptly cut herself off as Arthur
stood up and observed the painting from the 1800’s. He rubbed his chin with one hand,
holding the papers loosely in the hand that remained by his side. Mulaney stood up too, a
little too quickly, knocking his chair back a half inch. Composing himself, he fidgeted with
his tie and joined Arthur to look at the 1800’s painting.
his tie and joined Arthur to look at the 1800’s painting.
Arthur turned towards Conway, the man who had sat next to him at the table. “There
are three paintings here, so even if we solved these puzzles… two of us would walk out with
nothing. Even if we split the price of these paintings, it would be unwise for us all to
cooperate. You should ask your questions more quietly.”
Conway turned red in the face. He spoke so forcefully that small gobs of spit flew
from his mouth, sticking in his beard. “Sell? You intend to sell these?”
Arthur’s mouth tightened. “Yes, do you not? The market price for one of these works
is projected to be $2 million by next year.”
“Absolutely not! I am an art collector, and it would be an insult to the artist to sell
these!”
Amelia abruptly stood up, eyes wildly darting across the page. “I found something!”
She looked towards the petite man. “Can I have a pen, please?”
The petite man hesitated, looking to the host for guidance. The host’s eyes focused on
him for a brief moment, and the host nodded. The small man excused himself from the room.
Mulaney barely moved his mouth as he spoke. “What did you find?”
“If you take the letters, I think—”
Arthur interrupted Amelia. “Before you share what you’ve found, perhaps we should
form teams. One side of the table against the other.”
form teams. One side of the table against the other.”
Miss Horlag spoke for the first time that night, folding her wrinkled hands on the
table. “Wouldn’t that advantage you? This lady and I—”
“I never said which side of the table. I would prefer to split it vertically. One person
and I, versus the three of you.”
Miss Horlag’s mouth twitched into a frown. “Young man, you really shouldn’t
interrupt people.”
interrupt people.”
Arthur snorted. “And what should I do? Apologize? There is money to be made here.”
Mulaney nodded, and Conway huffed.
Mulaney turned from the painting and addressed the table. “But how should we
decide teams? Two on three isn’t very fair, it advantages the two who would make the most
money—”
Miss Horlag leaned against the back of her chair. “Oh, money. Is that all you want?
Why not work together, then the two people who want the paintings can keep them, and those
who want the money can sell their share.”
“Well—” Mulaney began.
“How is that fair?” Arthur snarled. He turned towards Miss Horlag, and slammed his
hands on the table. “I give up close to 3 million dollars, and you get to keep a fancy painting
in your house?”
The small man snuck back into the room. His weary eyes watched the guests as he
handed Amelia a pen. As they bickered, he moved towards the front of the room and began
distributing pie slices to the guests.
“Perhaps we could find a middle ground,” Mulaney started, “if we sell all three
paintings for 6 million, surely you could find a nice painting for a million dollars.”
“A nice painting? Nice?” Conway roared. “Do you have any idea how coveted K.
Colresh paintings are in the art world?”
Amelia quickly interjected, “How do you spell that name?” But the conversation had
already moved on.
“If we can’t come to an agreement, perhaps we should work on our own.” Miss
Horlag said.
“Fine. Then those who would like to be part of a team can be part of a team.” Arthur
turned to Amelia, “If you share what you found with me, I might consider working with you
to win this game.”
turned to Amelia, “If you share what you found with me, I might consider working with you
to win this game.”
Amelia put the cap back on her pen. “Well…”
Conway practically spat at Arthur. “Ignore him. He wouldn’t know anything about art
if a painting smacked him in the face. You’d be better off working on your own— if he can’t
appreciate art, how can he win an artist’s game?”
Arthur let out a snort, face full of amusement.
Miss Horlag slapped at the table. “Don’t give him any answers, sweetie. He’s too rude
for his own good.”
Amelia looked down at her own paper, silent. Arthur seemed to take this as an
answer, and he returned to his seat. If she had only looked at the papers, there must be some
clue that he didn’t understand within them.
When everyone had finally quieted, an idea sparked in Miss Horlag’s mind. She
picked up the fork for her pie, then pretended to drop it accidentally. It fell into her lap, and
she had to discreetly brush it under the table, all the while saying “Clumsy, clumsy me.”
Once more, she climbed under the table, but this time she let the cloth drop,
completely obscuring all light. She groped around in the dark— both for her fork and for
something else. Where was it? She knew that she felt it some— ah. Her fingers brushed
against something smooth and strange. It might just be the table leg, but it wouldn’t hurt to
give it a good yank. She pulled lightly on the object and it moved. She dragged it towards
her, trying to move it as quietly as possible.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and someone lifted the table cloth up. Beneath the
table, she could hear Arthur’s voice.
“What are you doing?”
She let out a small hiss and crawled out from under the table, holding the object. “I
found it, so it is mine.”
In the light of the room, she could finally see it clearly. It was a small metal box, one
that had been dented and bruised. A lock held it together, firmly fixated on the front of the
silvery metal.
Arthur snatched it away from her and held it above his head. “Being stingy now, are
we? No surprise that you didn’t want to work in teams.”
Miss Horlag reached for the box, but quickly snatched her hand away and glared at
Arthur when she realized it was out of reach.
Amelia interrupted the two. “What kind of lock is that? Does it need a key?”
“If I tell you, will you agree to work with me?”
Miss Horlag snapped at them, “That box is mine. You don’t deserve it.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. He towered over the slightly-hunched Miss Horlag, and his
grey suit only served to elongate his figure.
Amelia glanced at her paper, quickly turning it over. “I will help on one condition— I
would like to keep the painting for some time before you sell it.”
Arthur’s brown eyes wandered to the ceiling. “For how long? Two months? Four? A
year?”
“Just a few weeks, really. I would like to write an article about it for the paper.”
“And if I show you the box, could you open it?”
Amelia hesitated, unsure of how to answer him. “…Possibly.”
Satisfied, he tossed the box to Amelia. Miss Horlag dived for it as he brought it to his
side, but narrowly missed it as it arched through the air. Amelia stumbled to catch it,
accidentally tossing it up a few times before it fell into her lap. The box was quite small— no
larger than two fists.
She flipped the box over, and turned it around several times before focusing on the
lock. “It has a four digit code— all numbers.”
Arthur’s lip twitched, but Amelia did not look up from the box.
Mulaney whipped around and looked at the painting. He started to say, “nine-teen
six—”, but abruptly stopped himself.
Without looking up, Amelia started turning the numbers on the brass lock. She knew
what Mulaney was about to say. “Yes I do think that’s a possibility— ah, it didn’t work.”
Conway sat forward in his chair, intrigued. “Try it flipped.”
Amelia started turning the numbers, slowly and steadily.
Miss Horlag said, “Now hold on, before you open it— we should decide. I found the
box, so I think that everyone deserves to see what’s inside it.”
Arthur glared at her. “Compared to before, when it was for yourself?”
“Well, that’s different. I know that you wouldn’t let me look at it if you got the
chance, but I found the box! Fair is fair!”
Arthur laughed and leaned over the older woman. “Fair? We are competing.”
Amelia stopped before the last digit. “M’am? I agree with you. Would you like to put
in the last digit?”
Miss Horlag smiled widely, and held out her hand for the box.
“Hold on— we agreed. We are a team— she will keep that thing for herself!”
Amelia shrugged. “Even if she does, we could always take it back. Besides— we
don’t know how long we have to finish this game. We ought to use all of the help we can get
until the final minutes.”
Conway nodded fervently, eager to see what was in the box.
Miss Horlag picked it up and slid it onto the table. Her hands shook with excitement
as she turned the last number in the lock. The lock opened with a pop.
Using two hands, she slowly lifted the lid. The smell of rotten, decaying meat filled
the room. Many guests gagged, and Amelia covered her mouth with her hand. The smell
permeated the room almost instantly, to a degree that the box could not have contained.
Conway was violently shaking in his chair, bent over with his head between his knees. Miss
Horlag screamed and abandoned the box, dropping the lid shut.
the room. Many guests gagged, and Amelia covered her mouth with her hand. The smell
permeated the room almost instantly, to a degree that the box could not have contained.
Conway was violently shaking in his chair, bent over with his head between his knees. Miss
Horlag screamed and abandoned the box, dropping the lid shut.
Arthur removed a purple handkerchief from his suit pocket and used it to cover his
nose and mouth. Amelia’s pen was still resting on top of her documents. He grabbed the
capped pen and uncapped it, switching the cap to the other side. Using this instrument, he
slowly lifted the box’s lid. Inside was something intestine-like and tannish-pink. A red, thin
liquid coated and congealed at the bottom of the box, rising up the sides of the mysterious rot.
Conway pulled his head from between his knees for a brief moment, and bile burned
his throat. He rushed to the doors, accidentally slamming himself into them. He yanked and
pulled at the door handle, twisted and shoved, but the door refused to open.
A lazy grin spread across the hosts’ face.
“Let me out! I’m gonna yak!” Conway screamed.
The host spoke for the first time in a while. “No one leaves this room until someone
wins my game.”
Pink, undigested chunks of food spewed out of Conways mouth onto the door.
Mulaney gagged where he stood. The small man, who seemed unaffected by the matter,
pulled a cleaning cloth from his jacket pocket.
Miss Horlag whispered, “You… you can’t keep us here. Please, the smell is horrible.
Let me out for a moment.”
Arthur walked to the door, using the handkerchief in his hand to pull on the untouched
door handle. The door shook powerfully and Arthur tensed, but it did not budge,
Miss Horlag’s face paled.
“You HAVE to let us out! You cannot keep us here!” loosen it, then pulling it tighter. If he was going to asphyxiate, he’d rather do it quickly. But he wasn’t starved of oxygen, he was sweating. His coat was stifling. It felt like it was melting its way into his skin. The air got hotter and hotter, heavier and heavier. The only sound that
could be heard was some desperate wheezing, and then, nothing.
could be heard was some desperate wheezing, and then, nothing.
The air seemed impossibly heavy, but the room was finally silent. A new painting had
appeared on the table. It featured an older woman and a red-faced man staring at the feast
before them. The table, which was once almost-empty, had been filled by silent hands, in real
life and in paint. There were meat dishes and fatty desserts spread out, messily arranged on
the dining table. The guests were no longer in the room, and the petite man scurried to clean
up the mess they left behind.
The host hummed to himself. “Those who wished to feed on wealth will now be fed
on instead… Those that wished to hoard beauty shall now be on display… and she who came
to tell a story, will now the story be.”
The host moved around the table, picking up a single sheet of paper from Amelia’s
chair. It was new— a transcript, of sorts— describing all of the events that had occurred in
that room. It had appeared, as if by magic, in the very spot where she had sat.
The host murmured to himself, “The allure of art, or the promise of gold… always
brings people in. This was the first time we invited a story.”
He glanced at the paper, then sighed. “This game was quite boring. Here.” The host
shoved the paper into the little man’s hand. “Put this in the paper— say it was my first
attempt at writing. See if that will draw anyone interesting in. And the painting… show it like
the rest. It will bring in more guests, sometime soon.”
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