Miscalculation

The door to the mansion stood ajar, its dark wood stained with bloody hand prints. Inside, a smoke alarm was incessantly beep, beep, beeping over a small kitchen fire that had mostly put itself out.

An abandoned belt sander spun in the entryway, tufts of blonde hair stuck to the paper. Nearby a chandelier had crashed to the floor, scattering glass everywhere. An arm, body free, was draped amid the wreckage. The rhinestones glued to the painted fingernails sparkled in the flickering lights.

From upstairs you could hear the frightened bleating of a goat that had long since chewed through its restraints. The animal’s fur was caked with blood, none of it its own.

In the living room, next to the stereo, the man in the rented duck costume was pinned to the wall with a samurai sword. The costume’s head was missing, and it was hard to say where it had ended up.

Aaron was found curled up into a ball, head in his hands, weeping. Sheila sat on the stairs next to him, using paper towel to wipe blood from her hair and face. She was the one to finally break the silence, speaking the first words in over an hour that couldn’t be classified as a cry of fear. Or pain. Or a plea to a clearly uninterested god.

“As far as surprise birthday parties go, this wasn’t bad.”

Aaron sobbed.