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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Dark · #2175322
Want to play a Thanksgiving Day game?
The old man at the table set up an elaborate scheme. It was only known to him, and he watched. He had to watch them, he had to keep excellent mental notes he would soon put to paper. If he missed who ate and drank what, he would ruin the game. If that happened, it all ended badly. He had to wait, let people finish, they all loved the same thing he loved. There was nothing like a great game! It would be glorious, he thought.

Howard stood and tapped his glass. “I haven’t welcomed you yet. So welcome to my home.”

There was a murmur. “Yes, it is my place, I know you thought it was a rental. I’m more well off that you thought. In fact, the feast this Thanksgiving will be one to remember. So, without further ado, let my servers make their rounds, and let the evening begin!” He smiled and nodded, then sat. There was a bit of small talk, and the old man smiled at the half dozen who joined him.

The two men and one woman began delivering dish after dish to the table. The styles ranged from Creole to New England and from the Pacific Northwest to the Carolinas. The turkeys were fried and baked, and other exotic meats like duck and wild boar had been in smokehouses for days. The sides were so different and delicious, the group had difficulty deciding. It was perfect. Howard began surreptitiously been taking notes on his pad and pen. There was one on the table in front of every guest.

The servers brought drinks to order, but generally the notes only had the name with three selections. They were beer, wine, or liquor, though perhaps there was a combination of the two. Any of the picks was splendid. Beer was on tap and by the bottle in multiple flavors, the wine was of distinctive vintage, and the alcohol was all top shelf. It was a feast truly fit for kings.

One of the guests near the old man spoke. “What a fine meal! I don’t think it lacks a thing, Howard. You even found my scotch.”
Howard smiled. “Yes, I had one of my people pick it up overseas when they went on business, Charles.”
The younger man looked surprised. “I’m still not sure what you do. We’ve known each other for years, but your occupation eludes me."
Howard smiled. “As it should. What I do is very private and quite classified. It must be a mystery.”
Madison, who sat across from Charles, overheard. “So you can’t tell us anything you do?”
Howard had to laugh just a little. “Oh no, you’ll find out something I did once everyone is finished the dinner course!”
Both of them smiled. Charles said, “I can’t wait.”

Howard smiled and nodded, then went back to his notes. The table mates who saw him writing assumed he was just making notes for a nice toast. In a way, he was. The crowd, the people Howard knew, were all academics. They all had intelligence and knowledge, something the host also possessed. Yet, when they got together for game night, they forgot him. He knew he was older, but it wasn’t a dating scene. It just seemed they thought he wouldn’t be any fun, Howard surmised. Well, tonight he had the best puzzle of all.

Howard stood and tapped the crystal glass. “I hope you have enjoyed the dinner course, my friends and colleagues. I have a fine dessert course coming, along with some port wine.”

James held up a hand. “I don’t think I could eat another bite!”

Howard laughed, and it was closer to maniacal then hearty. “Oh, I bet you will today!” He held up the pen and notepad. “You each have a very nice engraved pen and a monogrammed pad. It’s my gift to you. I would get ready to use them. The biggest puzzle of your life could depend on it.”

Howard growled at them at bit, “Why couldn’t I play?! I was never invited to your game night parties! Did you think I’m no good at games? I am. You’ll see.” He clapped his hands and the door to the kitchen opened. The two men pushed dessert carts covered with various creations into the room. “Wait!” Howard warned. “Don’t just grab anything. You only get one choice, and it better be right.”

The guests stared at him and questioned him all at once. He quieted them down and explained the game. His people, hired for the game, had put certain poisons in certain foods and drinks. There was more to it, and they were given the rules, then the clues, recited by Howard.

“Jillian and James cannot eat the same item.”
“Charles should avoid chocolate, and Stuart’s choice.”
“William cannot have creme brulee.”
“Madison must have vanilla.”

The clues went on, and the pens around the room kept up as they could. The “wait staff” was also former military, and they would keep anyone from trying to eat several pies or pastries. Eating two could kill the person, too... But the staff would also keep them in the room.

Howard smiled. “Figure it out, brainiacs… Then let me know. I know I’m ready for sweets, so you have a half hour.” Then he left the room for a moment. According to the hired help they had not only taken notes, but argued about what the host had eaten, and if it was poisoned or not. They argued and worked problems as best they could. It was the same kind of test they had all taken for graduate school, only this one was to live.

Much too soon to the guests, Howard returned. “Have you decided on dessert?” He said it quite nonchalantly. They had. The orders were given to each of them, and they tried to read the host, but he gave nothing. They ate the food they had been given and a few drank the port they were offered. When the course was finished, they all looked to the host.

Howard stood.

“Charles, you were dead until you drank the port. Good choice there.”

He went around the table.

“Jillian, I listened to you work through the facts, but you missed one. Pity.”
“James and William both solved it and ate the right stuff. Nice!”

He gave them a thumbs up.

“Stuart was all over the place. What happened? Dead.”
“Madison, you got it right and drank port. You win twice!”

Howard laughed and backed up. Jillian and Stuart wanted after him, but the security kept them in place. He laughed at them and called them poor sports. They had a clear logical solution to their puzzle and failed. Oh, but they wanted the antidote anyway! Why, the puzzle master thought, should someone get the same reward as those who solved their riddle? Not only the two failures were coming at him, but the rest of the room was backing them.

Howard held up his hands. “Okay! Stop! There was never any poison, it was just a puzzle to solve. I just made it real!”

Jillian slapped him in the face, hard, but said. “At least it was a nice meal.”

They never forgot to give the old man an invite to game night ever again, which was really all he wanted.
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