31 Frights of October

The Masquerade Murders

Rain hammered the windows of Ashcombe Manor, drowning the countryside in darkness. Inside, the annual All Hallows Masquerade was underway. Masks concealed faces, but nothing could hide the tension that clung to the air.

Camille Harcourt stepped into the grand ballroom, a black lace mask framing her green eyes. She felt out of place among the guests—elegant women in glittering gowns, men in sharp suits, all their laughter feeling a little too forced. She wasn't here to mingle. She was here for answers.

One year ago, her sister Eleanor had disappeared after attending this same party. Camille's search had led her nowhere—until she'd received the black envelope three days ago. The invitation had been unsigned, but she recognized the name: Victor Delamere.

Victor, the enigmatic host of these infamous masquerades, had been the last person seen with Eleanor. Whispers about him abounded—some called him charming, others called him dangerous. But no one truly knew him, and it was that mystery that made Camille wary as she stepped further into his world.

The clock struck ten, the deep chime reverberating through the manor. Conversations stilled as Victor Delamere ascended a dais at the far end of the ballroom. His raven mask, crafted from black feathers and silver accents, gleamed under the chandelier's light.

"Welcome," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "Tonight, we gather to celebrate life, to honor death, and to remember the fragile thread that binds the two."

Camille's gaze locked on him. He was tall, his dark suit tailored to perfection, his movements deliberate. She wondered how this man—this stranger—had ensnared her sister.

Her thoughts shattered with the first scream.

A woman stumbled into the room, clutching her throat. Blood soaked her white gloves and pearls, trailing down the front of her dress. She collapsed to the marble floor, her mask slipping to reveal wide, glassy eyes.

Gasps rippled through the room. Camille froze, her breath catching as the woman's blood pooled like spilled ink beneath her.

Victor stepped forward, calm and unhurried. "No one leave," he commanded, his voice sharp. "The doors will remain locked until we've resolved this... matter."

A heavy thud echoed as the manor doors slammed shut.

Camille's stomach twisted. She had known this night would be dangerous, but she hadn't expected a murder.

Victor turned to the room, his raven mask making him seem more predator than man. "It seems we have a killer among us. Shall we pass the time with a game?"

The murmurs of protest were weak, drowned by the weight of his presence.

Victor's lips curled into a faint smile. "A treasure hunt. Clues hidden throughout the manor. Solve them, and perhaps you'll find the truth. Fail, and..." He let the silence finish his thought.

The first clue appeared on a silver music box in the drawing room: "Where time stands still, the past whispers secrets."

Camille lingered as the other guests dispersed, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings on the box. She opened it, and a familiar melody spilled out—Greensleeves.

Her throat tightened. Eleanor had loved this song.

The words on the clue pulled her thoughts to the manor's library. She'd heard rumors of the old grandfather clock there, a relic frozen in time.

She found it in the far corner, its face dull with dust, its hands stuck at eleven past midnight. Running her fingers along its surface, she felt a latch give way. The clock face swung open, revealing a folded piece of parchment.