Wifflekins

Beneath a darkening sky, John and Mary Jackson drove for hours through forests of leaf-bare trees. Finally they turned onto a pot-holed driveway and John read the paint-peeled sign on the rusting gate: "'Turpincott Manor.'"

Mary surveyed the rickety mansion topped by dilapidated gables and said, "Kinda spooky-looking."

"I'll tell you what's spooky,"John said. "Today's real estate market. Everybody's doing remote work and rural housing prices are skyrocketing. This is the only listing in our range."

"Implying there's a catch."

"Or -- A CURSE!" John overextended his eyebrows. Soberly, he added, "A small marketing startup like ours usually takes months to collect enough clients to generate sufficient cash flow. We can't afford to pass up a bargain."

Mary grumbled.

A downpour started as they parked the car. The real estate agent hurried them into the dimly-lit foyer.

John gaped overhead. "It's got a chandelier!"

"Festooned with dust," Mary observed.

"The house has been vacant for three years," the agent replied. "It was auctioned only last month to cover tax delinquencies."

"What happened to the owner?" Mary asked.

The agent shrugged. "Is that a concern?"

"If we stumble upon his corpse, yes."

The agent's smile glazed. "If you're uncomfortable, we can view another listing. But you should know, others are looking at this property."

John saw his wife's expression and said hastily to the agent, "How about a tour?"

The agent handed over flashlights. "The power bill wasn't paid either."

They followed the agent through the dark halls. In addition to sprawling bedrooms, there was a kitchen that resembled the bridge of an aircraft carrier, a dining room large enough for a tennis court, a study, an atrium, and a workshop.

John flicked the flashlight beam over piles of machinery. "What's this?"

"Doctor Turpincott -- the previous owner -- was an inventor," the agent said. "He came to our community to enjoy solitude while continuing his work."

"Then mysteriously disappeared," Mary said.

"Again, if you feel -- "

"We'll buy it!" John said.

Taking their check but gifting the flashlights, the agent drove away. They spent well into evening exploring the house. To avoid driving back to town at night, they had brought sleeping bags, which they spread across the foyer.

"If anyone else looked at this house," Mary muttered, "they must have kept driving."

John aimed his flashlight upward. "Mary, don't you love that chandelier?"

"No, John. It's a death trap."

"How so?"

"It's the size of a mini-van but suspended by one skinny cable. The obvious intent of the design is to fall and crush people."

"So it's a 'murder chandelier?'"

"Everyone would believe it was an accident. The perfect crime."

"You think Doctor Turpincott invented a murder chandelier and had it installed in his home. That makes no sense."

"Doesn't have to. He was mad. J. Murray Turpincott invented the submersible bicycle, flame-throwing roller skates, lighter-than-air ice cream, and the ZQF3407 microchip. The chip made his fortune but as for the other inventions, you have to admit they proclaim 'mad scientist.'"