1. Murder By Moonlight

It was the dead of night, long after the moon had made its exit.

Snow was on the ground, having fallen freshly the day before—a fine, powdery snow, glossy and pale under the remaining stars. The large oak trees that lined the long drive to the manor were stiffened with ice, and they groaned as the wind whisked briskly past, trying to move them from their fixed places.

Inside the manor, all was still, save for a small pulse of activity in one of its upper chambers.

The room was dark; it was lit only by two candles that stood on the table, as though serving as centurions against the darkness that surrounded them, enshrouding the three figures around them, and the crime that had just been committed.

For as they stood, silently, staring at one another, they all knew that they were guilty of murder.

It needed to be done, thought the first.

There was no other way, thought the second.

It’s for the best, thought the third.

Each kept his or her own silent counsel as the affair took place. It was strange, and eerie—there had been no ceremony or final confrontation; they had simply killed him, and he had simply died. The blood flowed silently, pooling calmly on the white linen sheets, seeping through, staining them. The victim himself made no sudden cry for help; he was an old man; sleep’s hostage at the time of the murder.

He was lucky, they all thought. The transition from sleep into death had been smooth and easy.

Silently, one of the murderers bent down, releasing the knife from his gloved hand, and resting it on the dead man’s chest.

He straightened, and looked at the other two.

Nodding, they turned, walking noiselessly from the room, and closing the door behind them.

The deed was done.