Writer Games: The Final Twist & A Night in Wattpad Manor & Faction Wattpad

M is for Murder: Females

One: Penelope Lockheart

People are such idiotic  imbeciles that I actually used, yes, you heard me right, I actually used  two words of the same meaning to express just how stupid these people  are. I was told specifically that I should retreat to this manor for an  opportunity for a place at a large observatory, only to appear and find  out all these people came here for different reasons. And to think the  host hasn't even had the audacity to show up in his own home after an  hour of waiting and meager socialization.

I could already tell by  the time I walked in, who would become well-acquainted with whom after  only moments of talking- there was the apparent journalists huddled in  one corner, chattering quietly about the headlines reaching papers  today, and then there were the select others, those who had no one else  to socialize with.

I myself hung off  towards the door, the darkening skies a backdrop for this strange party  per se. My eyes darted to and fro from the others, trying to get some  sort of vibe as to what these people were thinking. My eyes settled  eventually upon the large spiralling staircase, and I casually admired  the architecture. I myself was no architect, but I could certainly tell  this manor took some time to build meticulously. It was quite a piece of  work.

It was barely seven  o'clock by the time the mysterious smell erupted from the dining room-  and by mysterious, I do certainly mean the fact of no one entering the  dining room was certainly something to be questioned. The obviously  incompetent party guests walked casually into the dining room, myself  trailing behind them, as the air became light and the mystery forgotten  by them.

My body entered the  large hall last, right in front of me whom I assumed to be a young blind  woman- probably no older than myself. Seeming to have some trouble  walking, I lightly tapped her arm and asked if she needed some help.  After politely declining, I shrugged and made my way to the available  chairs- the only ones being right near the ends.

Taking a seat, folding  the napkin from the plate tediously on my lap, the atmosphere was light  and airy- the chatter of those oblivious to these peculiar events  filling the room, as the tinkling of cutlery becomes louder as a roast  pig comes out of the adjoining kitchen, the smell savory, and a tall man  with graying hair carrying the platter carefully. Setting it down  without a word, he slips into the kitchen again.

By this time, the  darkened skies outside had burst to the seams, the rain pattering hard  against the windowpanes and the lightning lighting up the sky with a  crack. Thunder rolled across the sky, as the pigs smell wafted towards  each of us in the room.

With a loud crack of  thunder and lightning, the power went out, the candelabra placed upon  the centre of the table mysteriously blowing out.

As the chatter rises  loud, the question of where are the lights, an ear-shattering scream  comes from directly to my left. My head whips to the side, a collective  breath sucked in as the power somehow immediately comes back on.

It is getting curiouser  and curiouser, my mind tells myself; the line derived from Lewis  Carroll's Alice in Wonderland- I had to do a term paper in my last year  of secondary school for English. I knew there was something strange  going on, and as I was right: a man lies on the ground. Dead.

I hear another scream  behind me, my head whipping around, my eyes squinted to scan for the  source. Someone has fainted, another has turned ghastly pale, as  everyone eyes the body of the unknown man lying on the ground.

I turn back around, my  eyes scanning the scene. The man, face down in his own blood, the pig  knife somehow embedded into his shoulder blades. An almost impossible  move, but somehow whoever has done this has managed.