Day 1,228

The night began as it always did at Fairfowl Grange Manor every January 18th. As midnight rolled around, the old organ would bellow out a year's worth of dust in a single note that seemed to loom out over the night and under the music until dawn.

The note would gradually fade amidst the sounds of a rather large party that came to its usual crescendo around 4AM when all the guests would reenact their deaths. Visitors weren't encouraged to such an event, though they weren't exactly discouraged either. This one night accounted for most of their yearly revenue, after all.

The living mingled with the dead, all in period appropriate attire and always on the lookout for the elusive poisoner who had spiked every barrel of wine in cellar. Two hundred and thirty years later and they hadn't been found, no matter how many guests scoured the extensive grounds each and every year. Their regulars were obsessed with finding the culprit and giving rest to the party once and for all.

After speaking to everyone they possibly could (some ghosts were just too caught up in their reenactments to break from their pre-death script) and everyone who could answer always said the same thing. Somehow there was an extra guest that nobody could name.