You thought you'd be able to slip back into the mansion one last time before it was due to be demolished only to find it very much occupied, the inhabitants seemingly stuck in the 1920's. They were a family of maladjusted individuals who preyed on anyone they could, calling their victims "maladies" and promising them cures, remedial therapies and the sweet embrace of death all in the same breath.
This time, the second you close the front door behind you he greets you with a stiff smile before saying "Have you met mother's latest malady? I dare say this one might even last the day." and as he jerkily gestures towards the ornate glass doors leading to the greenhouse you hear the faint sounds of smooth jazz and sobbing coming from the morning room.
Politely excusing yourself comes as a second nature now, after evading them for so long and so often. They've given you the nickname of Sly Jay and had stopped trying to make a malady of you after you managed to accidentally fix their telephone while trying to get the attic lights to work (at the time, it was the safest place to hide, though the noises up there were a tad worrying).
They'd given you a set of clothing appropriate to the time-zone they emulated which became your disguise and protection against them while you tried to figure out how they'd managed to survive in the house for so long without any food deliveries and how their victims hadn't been mentioned in any news source.
Torn between wanting to help the latest "malady" and wanting to further cement yourself as a part of the group for protection by seeing who was crying in the morning room you instead chose to find out more from the man before you. His name was Matty, at least that's what the rest of the family called him, and he had a thing for strangulation. As you asked about the "malady" you noticed his hands twitching and grasping at air, a sure sign he hadn't had a "malady" of his own in a day or two, probably too distracted by the current one.
When he began to reach for his pockets, where he kept a tight coil of cheesewire, you asked about the person crying in the morning room. His sister, Moira, had apparently been ditched by her latest "suitor" - another victim of theirs who she'd probably beaten to death as she usually did. You offered to go speak to her, offer her comfort as a friend should (and evade becoming a "malady" once again). Matty accepted this with forced glee, the struggle between wanting to strangle you and wanting the best for his dearest little sister played over his face almost comically.
Facing him until the last second, all the while playing up your concern for Moira and shock at how callous her "suitor" must have been to leave her so suddenly, you backed into the morning room and quickly closed the door behind you.
Moira sat on the piano stool, dress still stained dark red from her "suitor" and eyes stained red from crying. Of all the siblings she was least likely to kill you, not after you'd introduced her to a "suitor" who'd lasted the longest. She liked to keep their heads, rather the skin from their heads, suspended in jars of brine along the shelves. The light filtering through the trees outside made it look like they were all squirming.
Through her stuttered crying you managed to make out that her "suitor" had asked to leave one too many times and of course she'd had no choice but to cut off his legs, crudely sewing the stumps together and bathing them in whiskey every hour or so. He'd finally succumbed to a nasty infection that morning and was still down in his room, waiting for Matty and their father to decide where to bury him and if he deserved a burial after the "brutal" way he'd treated her.
When she asked if you had any single friends it seemed to be a sign that you were getting in too far, becoming a little too friendly with them. You didn't want to be any more a part of this than you already had, sacrificing your safety, your sanity, your own friend for the sake of satisfying your curiosity. Times like this made you feel like you deserved to be next but that pesky self-preservation kicked in and you found yourself texting an old college buddy to meet you at the back door to the mansion. Thinking they were getting a hook-up they sent a reply within minutes and Moira's teary face shifted to her usual perky, predatory smile.
"Oh Sly Jay, you really are a sweet heart! I hope this fella's The One" she said, eyeing up the shelves around you both. There was still plenty of empty space, enough for tens of other "suitors" and who knows how many more you'd help her with before you joined them too.
This time, the second you close the front door behind you he greets you with a stiff smile before saying "Have you met mother's latest malady? I dare say this one might even last the day." and as he jerkily gestures towards the ornate glass doors leading to the greenhouse you hear the faint sounds of smooth jazz and sobbing coming from the morning room.
Politely excusing yourself comes as a second nature now, after evading them for so long and so often. They've given you the nickname of Sly Jay and had stopped trying to make a malady of you after you managed to accidentally fix their telephone while trying to get the attic lights to work (at the time, it was the safest place to hide, though the noises up there were a tad worrying).
They'd given you a set of clothing appropriate to the time-zone they emulated which became your disguise and protection against them while you tried to figure out how they'd managed to survive in the house for so long without any food deliveries and how their victims hadn't been mentioned in any news source.
Torn between wanting to help the latest "malady" and wanting to further cement yourself as a part of the group for protection by seeing who was crying in the morning room you instead chose to find out more from the man before you. His name was Matty, at least that's what the rest of the family called him, and he had a thing for strangulation. As you asked about the "malady" you noticed his hands twitching and grasping at air, a sure sign he hadn't had a "malady" of his own in a day or two, probably too distracted by the current one.
When he began to reach for his pockets, where he kept a tight coil of cheesewire, you asked about the person crying in the morning room. His sister, Moira, had apparently been ditched by her latest "suitor" - another victim of theirs who she'd probably beaten to death as she usually did. You offered to go speak to her, offer her comfort as a friend should (and evade becoming a "malady" once again). Matty accepted this with forced glee, the struggle between wanting to strangle you and wanting the best for his dearest little sister played over his face almost comically.
Facing him until the last second, all the while playing up your concern for Moira and shock at how callous her "suitor" must have been to leave her so suddenly, you backed into the morning room and quickly closed the door behind you.
Moira sat on the piano stool, dress still stained dark red from her "suitor" and eyes stained red from crying. Of all the siblings she was least likely to kill you, not after you'd introduced her to a "suitor" who'd lasted the longest. She liked to keep their heads, rather the skin from their heads, suspended in jars of brine along the shelves. The light filtering through the trees outside made it look like they were all squirming.
Through her stuttered crying you managed to make out that her "suitor" had asked to leave one too many times and of course she'd had no choice but to cut off his legs, crudely sewing the stumps together and bathing them in whiskey every hour or so. He'd finally succumbed to a nasty infection that morning and was still down in his room, waiting for Matty and their father to decide where to bury him and if he deserved a burial after the "brutal" way he'd treated her.
When she asked if you had any single friends it seemed to be a sign that you were getting in too far, becoming a little too friendly with them. You didn't want to be any more a part of this than you already had, sacrificing your safety, your sanity, your own friend for the sake of satisfying your curiosity. Times like this made you feel like you deserved to be next but that pesky self-preservation kicked in and you found yourself texting an old college buddy to meet you at the back door to the mansion. Thinking they were getting a hook-up they sent a reply within minutes and Moira's teary face shifted to her usual perky, predatory smile.
"Oh Sly Jay, you really are a sweet heart! I hope this fella's The One" she said, eyeing up the shelves around you both. There was still plenty of empty space, enough for tens of other "suitors" and who knows how many more you'd help her with before you joined them too.
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