HM Mafia Round #6 MAFIA HIT: In the bedroom

As is the case with many young virile men, Isaac Carson Wiener felt a certain amount of invincibility as he strode through the foyer. Isaac was in his prime, fit and unstoppable, at the top of his game. Women adored him, men wanted to be him, and both wanted to be with him.

I am the man.

Pausing in front of a mirror to check his hair, Isaac continued through the foyer and up the winding stairway, taking the steps two at a time. He made his way to the room he had settled on earlier that night, to the bed that remained undisturbed by any sleeping form. He began digging through the little drawer in the bedside table, and when that search proved useless he moved on to the modest desk on the side opposite the bed.

“Can’t find a damn pen in this house. Always losing the damn things…ah ha!”

Isaac snatched up the old fountain pen from the very back of the desk drawer and settled in to write.

My Fellow Guests,


“Shit. Oh, this is just great.” The fountain pen, while elegant, proved not very useful to Isaac; it had managed to leak all over his hand and sleeve. He gave a snort of disgust and threw the pen across the room. Rejecting the idea of cataloguing his thoughts on paper, he leaned back in the chair and let his mind wander.


Dawn would be breaking any minute now, and the spirit was becoming restless. The house stank with living flesh, living people in what was now the spirit’s realm. The spirit was angered by this invasion even as it craved the taste of blood, again and again, never satisfied, never sated. Never, until every last living person was gone from this place.

The spirit, in its human form, crept down the hallway toward Isaac’s room, leaving trails of frost in its wake.


The struggle was greater than the spirit had anticipated, and it barely had the energy to feed before slinking away. The killing had been demanding, taking several blows with various blunt objects around the room before the adult actor was subdued. Still, the spirit won out in the end. It wondered, as it glided away, in spirit form now, if it was the rising sun making it weaker, or simply its latest efforts.

No matter; the spirit had waited years for this. It had enough to see it through.