Gwendolyn Kiste

The Same Game

 

The organ played by itself. It had a habit of doing that, especially once the children were sent upstairs, so the parents could play games.

 

But not games per se. One game. The same game.

 

After another round of joyous libations, the six adults gathered the furniture into the middle of the parlor. The man in tweed grabbed the loveseat, though he knew no one loved him.  The young couple towed three wingback chairs and went back to move the couch together.

 

The old couple just watched approvingly.

 

Once all the seats were arranged, the lady with the feather hat removed the cloth that concealed the casket, and the revelry began.

The music the organ selected was random. That night, it harmonized Mussorgsky first, but Beethoven and Brahms were as likely to participate.

 

During the game, the lady with the feather hat adored hearing Brahms, in particular his lullaby. She thought the irony was “perfectly delicious”.

 

The man in tweed—who always chose the casket as his starting place—asked if they were ready, and his five companions nodded, their broad grins burning through the dim space.

 

Smiles frozen on their lips, everyone stood still, and the room did the work for them. In time with the music, each person rotated from spot to spot, flashing to a new seat on every ensuing note.

 

Because it was a circle, there was no beginning or end, though the pattern was always the same: the couch to the loveseat to the wingback chairs to the casket. One person at each at any given moment of the game.

 

With a moan of the organ, the music stopped. The lady with the feather hat rested in the casket, eyes closed and body still.

 

“Let us bow our heads in mourning,” someone said, and the rest obeyed.

 

As they distributed their reverence, the lady disappeared from the room, feather hat and all.

 

The man in tweed removed a wingback chair, and the game commenced for a second round.

 

The old man went next and then the young man. The young woman quickly followed her paramour, leaving only the man in tweed and the old woman for the fifth and final round.

 

He removed the loveseat and assumed his place at the casket.

 

The old woman stared at him from the couch. “It’s my turn to win.”

 

“It’s never your turn,” he said with a smile.

 

 The organ growled to a start. This time, to bring the irony to its fever pitch, it played “Brahms Lullaby.”

 

Pity the lady with the feather hat was already vanquished, the man in tweed thought. Hearing the tune during the last round would have titillated every sense in her body.   

 

On an emphatic G chord, the song reached its final notes, and the game ended.

 

Only the man in tweed remained. As he predicted, the old lady rested in the casket. A final bow and incantation whispered, and she was sent to live with the others.

 

The organ rested in the corner, quiet and content at last that the revelry was complete.

 

The cloth masked the casket again, and sighing, the man in tweed settled on the discarded loveseat. As winner of the game, he could call them all back again, call them back with a word or flail or even just a nod of his head. He knew this because he had won many times as had the young couple and the lady with the feather hat. They always called the others back, and together, they laughed and celebrated with another round of drinks.

 

But the man in tweed was tired. The bathtub gin and beer and absinthe had cast its wicked spell, and the evening held little excitement for him now. He decided not to worry about the others, at least until the merrymaking haze had disintegrated with the dawn, and he had time to think.

 

After all, perhaps there were other games to entertain him, games designed for one.

 

And maybe such solo diversions could prove most fun of all.

 

The man in tweed rested his face against the velvet furnishings and closed his eyes, a smirk playing softly on his lips.

 

 

 

Gwendolyn Kiste is a horror and fantasy writer based in Pennsylvania. She contributes genre editorials to Horror-Movies.ca and Micro-Shock, and she is the resident “weird wanderer” for the travel-centric Wanderlust and Lipstick. Her short stories have appeared in Strangely Funny II, History and Horror, Oh My! and Whispers from the Past: Fright and Fear.You can find her at www.gwendolynkiste.com and on Twitter (@GwendolynKiste).