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

Search Party: Males

One: Jamie Webber

Samuel Schilling  - my exact opposite, yet the person I have been forced to partner up  with. Everyone else had found someone they at least vaguely liked, but I  knew no one. Being antisocial at this party has finally dealt me this  punishment: I have to be in a search party with someone I feel like I am  going to truly hate.

"What are we looking for?" I ask him, almost confused.

"Clues," he replies, looking around. "Something that can prove I'm not the murderer."

His  tone of voice proves that he was once popular, once charismatic, once  loved by everyone. Now, he is just another target of the murderer. He  might even be the murderer - he seems so desperate to find something  that proves his innocence that it is a little suspicious. Inspector  Graham would've questioned it.

We walk along in  silence, too different from each other to waste the effort attempting to  make conversation. The lights flicker on and off, like the atmosphere  was built for a cliche horror film. The amount of alcohol I have  consumed adds a haze to the room, but I know Samuel will not be a victim  of that.

"What sort of clues?" I try asking, and Samuel sighs in response.

"Something  that proves we're innocent!" he answers, exasperated. "Seriously Jamie,  do you not want to prove you're innocent? Has all that wine made you  turn into a killer and you're picking us off one by one to achieve your  drunken fantasies?"

"I'm not drunk," I reply.  "I've just had a few glasses of wine. Two or th...okay, four or five,  but surely even you drink when there is a murderer attempting to kill  you?"

Samuel doesn't reply, keeping his gaze  fixed ahead as he searches the room for clues. It's a sitting room,  decorated in deep red velvet. It looks undisturbed, empty of all life. I  don't think they'll be any clues, so I let Samuel do all of the  searching whilst I wait. Eventually, even he gives up.

"Thanks for the help, Jamie," he says sarcastically, heading out of the room with his back to me.

"No  problem," I reply. If I had alcohol with me, I'd be more agreeable. I  can already feel the throbbing beginnings of the headache, a headache  that can only be cured through sleep or by simply more alcohol. Usually,  I keep on drinking until I can't feel the pain any more, and then I  just sleep and focus on the hangover in the morning.

We  move back into the scarily long hallway, the dim lights not able to  fill it's great length entirely with light. Anything could be hiding in  the shadows - the killer, another corpse, another guest.

"Listen,"  I try, almost begging. "Can't we just go back? I mean, we're not going  to find any clues. The killer would have been seen by now if he was the  kind of person to leave clues."

"Don't you get  it Jamie?" replies Samuel, on the verge of yelling. "This is life or  death. I don't know what you've done with your life, but I have a wife  and child that I need to get home to. I can't die here, there's still so  much more that I need to get done. If the killer has left even the  slightest clue, the tiniest strand of hair, anything, then that's one  step closer to the answers, to our homes."

"But  what if there isn't any clues," I argue back. "We're not safe anywhere  in this house. Not like this, not unless there is a large group of us  that the killer won't be able to find his way through. We know what he's  doing now, we're prepared for his actions, we're all looking out for  him. Splitting up is only making us targets. This is real life, not some  terrible episode of Scooby-Doo!"