The Manor

By E. T. Young

Vivienne P. Fizzlewurst looked up at the manor before her. Overgrown with vines, empty windows staring blackly out at her, gate half off its hinges -- it was a dream come true. "Oh, Marilyn," she sighed, turning to face her sister, only to find Marilyn had already gone ahead. Vivienne's face momentarily clouded with worry, but then she hiked up her skirts and went charging after her sister. "Oh, Marilyn!" she remarked once again.

Marilyn turned to face her with a look of uncontainable contempt. Vivienne was undeterred; Marilyn was always looking like that. "It's perfect!"

"Someone was murdered here," replied Marilyn morbidly. "It says so right here in the brochure. That's why the place is so cheap."

"Isn't it just charming, though? Oh, look, there's a garden in the back!" Vivenne waved her gloved hand at a mass of overgrown weeds.

"Someone was murdered here," continued Marilyn. "A real, honest-to-god murder."

"And the view! How quaint!"

Marilyn went on: "The murderer used a butcher knife to cut up the victim, and that's why the place is so cheap."

"Oh, will you stop going on about this murder business?"

"But it's true. Someone was murdered here."

Sometimes her sister could be such a fuss. "Very well," said Vivienne. "Who?"

Marilyn took a look about the courtyard, well aware that she would not be able to afford the mansion at its current price, then reached into her purse for the butcher knife and smiled. "You."