The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next day was a beautiful Saturday, the first full day of wedding preparations. Breakfast was served out on the veranda, and for once, all the Oakwater children agreed to attend at the same time. William, Samuel, Charlie Junior, and Hilda sat around the circular table. Baby Chuckie was strapped into a highchair, and poor Léonette was saddled with the hapless task of feeding him. Vivienne, Adelle, and William’s manservant, José, stood in attendance nearby, manning the breakfast trolley. Birds chirped merrily in the garden.

Charlie Junior poured syrup over his waffles. “Enjoy your suite last night?” he said in a barbed tone to Samuel.

“Ohhhh yeah, baby,” Samuel grinned.

Charlie Junior shot daggers at his brother. “You know, my family and I really could have used—“

“Ah, stow it, Big Man,” Samuel scoffed. “Ain’t my fault you and your fat missus are too slow.”

Hilda’s eyes bulged at the insult.

“You’re a prat, Sam,” snarled William, finally looking up from The Wall Street Journal. “A selfish, greedy prat.”

Samuel made a grand show of removing one of his stinky cigarettes and then lighting it. He blew a cloud of smoke across the table at William.

Adelle heard Vivienne sigh. “Its going to be a long day,” the other maid muttered, in French.

For no particular reason, Adelle glanced over at José. The skinny Mexican hadn’t spoken a word. But he meekly smiled back.

‘Seems like a nice fellow,’ Adelle thought absently.

Meanwhile, Wendy Viebeck appeared in the double doorway from the house. “Good morning, everyone!” Charles Senior’s fiancée beamed.

William, Samuel, Charles Junior, and Hilda all scowled in her direction. Baby Chuckie started wailing and emptied his cup of milk onto Léonette’s apron.

“Well, I do hope everyone is excited for today,” Wendy said, chipper. She helped herself to a plate and two pieces of toast, then sat next to William. “We have a full day planned, you know. The tailors and dressmakers are coming at ten o’clock, the caterers at noon, and the bakery men shortly after that. The wedding planner and all her assistants will be here after lunch, to walk everyone through the ceremony.” She cheerfully spread marmalade on her bread. “Oh, I’m so glad you four are here to participate!”

“Hmmgh,” pouted William. He glanced down at the floor, frowned even more, then snapped his fingers, twice. José, hurried forward, knelt, and tied the loose shoelace on William’s left shoe.

“Wedding planning activities are scheduled for all day?” Charlie Junior asked, obviously resentful.

“And all day tomorrow,” Wendy informed him with a bright smile. The poor woman seemed oblivious to her future children-in-laws’ dark stares.

“The ceremony is to be in the Great Hall?” Hilda probed. “And Mr. Oakwater Senior… is attending?”

Wendy half-laughed. “Oh, my gracious, yes! We couldn’t invite our guests up to Charles’ suite, now could we?” She chuckled at her own joke. “No, it took some doing, but I convinced him to descend down from Olympus. Long enough for the nuptials, at least. Oh, won’t it all be fun? Why—“

Woolsby the butler appeared in the doorframe. “Telephone call for you, ma’am,” he said to Wendy. “A Mr. Drannet.”

“Ah, the florist,” Wendy commented to no-one in particular. “Excuse me, my dears, won’t be two shakes of a lambs’ tail…” She rose and swept back into the house.

The moment she was out of earshot, Samuel made a disgusted snarl. “What does Papa see in that dame?” he growled.

“She’s socially connected in Manhattan and Washington,” William replied dryly. “Papa apparently thinks he will be able to leave his suite and hobnob among high society.” He scowled, snapped his fingers, then pointed to his breakfast plate. José scurried to get him a grapefruit from the breakfast tray.

“You guys do realize,” Charlie Junior said, leaning forward, “that once they’re married, Wendy will go to the top of Papa’s will? Above us?”

The Oakwater children paused, grimly considering these words. Baby Chuckie began screaming louder and flinging his scrambled eggs in all directions.

Breakfast was the most civil event of the day. Shortly after the tailors arrived, William and Charlie Junior got into an argument, which exploded into an all-out shouting match. Samuel, and then Hilda, joined the fray shortly after that. By lunchtime, Clan Oakwater were nearly at one another’s throats.

“Please, please, please, can we not fight?” Wendy begged for the umpteenth time. To no avail.

Adelle and the rest of the servants trudged along, hoping against hope that they might be sent on an errand—any errand—which might put them out of yelling range. The Oakwaters were savage to one another, and did not hesitate to take their bad moods out on the staff. Goodness knows what the tailors and wedding caterers thought.

Throughout it all, Adelle was aware that Samuel was watching her, a strange, yearning look in his eyes. It made her deeply uncomfortable.

At half-past noon, the bakers were presenting their wares to The Family in the second-floor salon, a tall room with a great deal of Charles Senior’s naughty art of the walls. Mrs. Clatchet and Adelle were attending, watching the Oakwaters sample plate after plate of wedding cakes. Adelle hoped everyone had to sense to keep the confections out of the hands of Baby Chuckie.

To the young Frenchwoman’s surprise, Thérèse appeared from the corridor, and moved to stand silently beside Adelle. The head maid held her head high, but her beautiful face was drawn and joyless.

“Hey there,” Adelle murmured in French. “You escaped from the Master Suite?”

“Oh, I’m not assigned to the Master Suite anymore,” Thérèse said tonelessly.

Adelle couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows. “But why…”

“Girls!” clucked Mrs. Clatchet. The plump housekeeper jerked her head at The Family.

So Adelle held her tongue. She made a mental note to press Thérèse for gossip, later that evening.

Perhaps in an attempt to end the day sooner, Wendy arranged for an early dinner, at five o’clock. Adelle and the wait staff found themselves racing to prepare the Dining Room while Mrs. Plumm fired up every oven and burner she had.

Of course, the bad-tempered Oakwaters were still feuding when they arrived for the meal. “You?” Charlie Junior spat contemptuously at Samuel. “You, a businessman? Oh, come on. Your brain is too addicted to refer to ever be able to manage a business.”

“I gots a business,” said Samuel, stung. “Well, I gots business associates who…”

“Boys, boys, please?” begged poor Wendy.

At the Dining Room’s far end were Adelle, Thérèse, and Woolsby, all fussing over the serving trolley. The soup and bread were ready, but nothing else. José stood nearby, silent.

Adelle became aware that as she and Thérèse were leaning forward in their work, Samuel and Charlie Junior were staring into the young women’s cleavage. She scowled. She hated the Stockwood maid’s uniform. Why did the Oakwater boys never act discreet? William never gazed at the maids, never.

“Blast!” Woolsby muttered under his breath. The old butler’s hands trembled; he was showing the stress of the day. “Miss Thérèse, go to the kitchen and check with Mrs. Plumm? We will need the hors d’Oeuvres and salads immediately, I fear.”

Thérèse nodded briskly. “Oui, Monsieur Woolsby,” she acknowledged, and then was gone.

Meanwhile, William and Charlie Junior were still pillorying their brother. “I saw Papa’s business books,” William drawled. “You may have a business, Sam—doing God knows what—but you’ve racked up thousands of dollars with Papa’s law firm. Why do you need so many lawyers, anyway?”

“Mind your own beeswax,” was Samuel’s sullen reply.

William grunted in a dismissive way. He strode to the head of the table, claiming the throne-like chair that presided over the whole room.

“Hey!” Charlie Junior snapped. “That’s Papa’s chair!”

“Nuts to Papa,” scowled William. “If the crazy old man’s not fit enough to get out of bed, why should—“

“Not fit?” a deep voice rumbled. Everyone jumped.

Adelle looked up, astounded. There, looming in the double doorway, was a tall, wiry man in his mid-fifties. While his skin was pale and his back slightly hunched, this man still had great charisma. Perhaps it was the way his dark eyes shot about the room, sizing everyone up with a single, cold glance.

The man’s hair was bone-white and so long that it draped down his back. His face was lined with tight wrinkles, and those black eyes glinted underneath two bushy, snow-white eyebrows. The man wore a plain robe of gleaming red silk, which hung from his well-built shoulders and covered his entire body down to the floor. In one firm hand, he gripped a cane of polished oak, although it was clear he did not need assistance when walking.

It was all Adelle could do not to stare. This man could only be Charles Wilson Oakwater II… Charles Senior himself!

So this was the great Charles II! In all her time at Stockwood Manor, Adelle had imagined her reclusive employer to be… well, something else. From Thérèse’s description, she’d assumed that Charles Senior was frail and sickly and at death’s door. The man now framed in the archway was peculiar, to be sure. But other than his pale color, he looked the picture of health.

“Charles!” Wendy exclaimed, in both joy and relief. “You came downstairs!” She hurried to her fiancée’s side.

“Yes,” rumbled Charles Senior, the ends of his mouth dipping downward. His voice was deep and rich in texture. “Figured that if I’m to be married in the Great Hall, I should try to get out and see more of the house, eh?” His eyes narrowed as he glared at his three sons. “But maybe I should wait until we have more suitable guests.”

“Oh, Charles,” implored Wendy. She took the man’s arm. “Please, for my sake… Can we have one proper meal as a family?”

“Eh,” Charles Senior huffed. “Yes.” He scowled at William, Samuel, and Charlie Junior. “Yes, we can.”

William visibly swallowed. The eldest Oakwater brother rose from the head chair, then backed away.

Charles Senior moved to that chair, claiming it as his own. Wendy was quick to sit on his right. Then, with some reluctance, Samuel, Charlie Junior, Hilda, and finally William selected seats. William picked a chair furthest away from his father, and indicated it by pointing and then snapping his fingers. José glided forward, sliding out the chair for his employer.

Everyone was getting situated when another figure appeared in the doorway.

“Eleanor!” Wendy said in delight. “How wonderful you can join us!”

Indeed, it was Dr. Eleanor Vesper now striding into the Dining Room. The black-haired woman made a point to take Wendy’s hand and air-kiss both her cheeks.

“Yes, Mr. Oakwater and I were reviewing my project work,” Eleanor said vaguely. She moved to sit opposite William, which placed her as far away from Wendy as possible.

Adelle was stunned. Charles Senior had spent the last few hours with his mistress before inviting her to a family dinner? That was brazen. Even more astounding was that Wendy seemed to have not the slightest inkling that her husband-to-be was cheating on her… on the very day she was trying to plan their wedding!

Don’t judge, the young maid reminded herself. Being in service means absolute discretion for one’s employer.

“Reviewing your project work, I see, I see,” Wendy enthused. She beamed, apparently relieved to have any topic to distract from the day’s family drama. “Its so good of Charles to take an interest in your research, isn’t it? Er… what exactly is it that you do again? …state prisoner education?”

“We must begin the meal,” Woolsby whispered to Adelle. “I’ll serve the soup; you pour the wine. Then go to see if Mrs. Plumm and Thérèse need any help.”

The young maid nodded, picked up the crystal decanter, which was filled with a Chateau d’Yquem white wine. Thérèse would no doubt approve. Adelle began working her way around the table, pouring the goblets.

“Prisoner rehabilitation,” Eleanor said, unfolding her napkin. “My research involves using hypnotism to help prisoners control their base instincts. The hope is that, once released back into society, they can live productive lives.”

“Hypnotism?” Hilda echoed, looking spooked. “How ungodly.”

“Ohm not at all,” said Eleanor smoothly. “My new techniques are quite effective.”

Was it Adelle’s imagination… or did Samuel sneak yet another lustful glance at her?

“I don’t get it, Papa,” frowned Charlie Junior. “Helping prisoners? Why? What does that benefit you?”

“Eh,” Charles Senior rumbled, looking down at his fingers. “You know… community… civic duty, and all that…” He shifted uncomfortably. “There’s a tax incentive,” he finally offered.

“Ah,” his youngest son replied. Apparently cheating on one’s taxes was the only rationale Charlie Junior could understand.

As Adelle reached for Charles Senior’s wine goblet, the Oakwater Patriarch glanced up, then latched his black eyes onto her. “Well, well, now…” he rumbled. “Whom do we have here, eh?”

The young maid froze as all eyes in the room were clapped upon her.

“Ah, this is Miss Adelle, sir,” Woolsby said quickly. “Our newest maid.”

“Yes, yes…” smiled Charles Senior. “Well then. Eh. Twirl around for me once, will you, girl?”

Adelle was mortified.

“Go on,” the Lord of Stockwood urged.

With little choice, Adelle set her wine decanter on the tablecloth, then stepped back and rotated in a full circle. She could feel her employer’s greedy eyes sweeping over her body. When she faced him again, he was grinning.

“Eh,” Charles Senior commented. “Very pretty, very pretty.”

“Oh, Charles,” Wendy said in a quiet, disapproving voice.

The senior Oakwater waved a hand, dismissing Adelle. With relief, she resumed the wine service.

“So, you were saying, Eleanor…?” Wendy said quickly, hoping to move the conversation along.

“Hypnotism,” snorted Charlie Junior. He had looked revolted by his father’s interest in Adelle, and now the contempt was thick in his voice. “That’s just carnival trickery, isn’t it? You wave a pocketwatch, say some hocus-pocus words, and a weak-minded fool thinks they are under a spell? Hogwash.”

“Ah, respectfully, no,” Eleanor said delicately. “In fact—“

“There you go again, Charlie,” William snorted, shaking his head. “Pretending to be an expert on something you know absolutely nothing about.”

Charlie Junior’s eyes blazed. “You think I don’t know anything, do you?”

“Boys, boys, please…” Wendy implored in despair.

William rolled his eyes. “I think you want to impress Papa with your so-called smarts,” he dismissively said to Charlie Junior. “Trouble is, kid, you’re dumb as a post.” To Hilda, he added, “You married my dumbbell brother for his money, right? ’cause it wasn’t for his brains.”

Hilda’s eyes bulged. “I’ve been insulted too many times on this trip,” she huffed.

“Aw, shuddap, all of you,” Samuel growled. “You’re all a drag, man.”

“Oh, sure!” laughed William. “The drug freak who consorts with mobsters is lecturing us. Sure. In fact—”

“ENOUGH!” roared Charles Senior.

Adelle nearly jumped out of her skin. The Elder Oakwater’s voice was harsh and boiling with anger.

The Family recoiled as if stung by bees.

“You think you sit on high to judge everyone?” Charles Senior barked at his oldest son. “You disgust me. You all disgust me,” he snarled, drawing his withering gaze upon Samuel, then Charlie Junior, then even poor Hilda.

Wendy was beside herself. “Oh, Charles, please…?”

The Oakwater patriarch ignored her. “What curse was thrust on me,” he demanded, “to be saddled with such ungrateful and arrogant children? You are all fools, such fools.”

William drew himself up, resisting this verbal assault. “Sir,” he said coldly, “I wouldn’t—“

“You know, after a near-death experience,” Charles Senior cut him off, “a man tends to take stock of his life. I looked at mine, and worried that not one of my offspring were worthy of the name ‘Oakwater.‘” He shook his head. “If my father knew how his offspring had disgraced our proud name…”

“You know, I think I should…” Eleanor murmured, then rose and hurried from the Dining Room. No-one paid her the slightest bit of attention. Adelle envied the fleeing doctor; it was torturous to stand in attendance and witness Charles Senior’s wrath.

“I thought,” the white-haired man continued, his voice bristling with scorn, “that surely I was mistaken, no? Surely my own flesh-and-blood had some redeeming qualities? Eh. I had to know.”

The Oakwater children became pale and still. Fearfully, Charlie Junior asked, “…what did you do, Papa?”

“I had you investigated, you foolish child!” growled his father. He shook his head in disgust. “All of you. For five months now, you’ve been watched by my private eyes. And I’ve read their reports, hoping that one of you, just one of you, might demonstrate some potential, some glimmer of a soul. But you know what I saw?”

The room was achingly silent.

“Nothing,” Charles Senior hissed. “You spend my money, live off my sweat, lead deplorable lives, and expect me to reward you for your horrible behavior.”

“You had no right…!” Samuel muttered in resentment.

“Are you lecturing your father, boy?” exploded Charles Senior. “You, who throws thousands of dollars to drug dealers and common whores? And why are you driving up a fortune in legal bills? Because your so-called friends are mobsters and criminals, and you, foolish boy, keep allowing yourself to become their patsy. You should have been tossed in jail years ago.”

“And you,” the Oakwater ranted, stabbing a thin finger at Charlie Junior. “You thought I wouldn’t find out about how you wasted your trust fund? Spending on what, cars and horses and wine and women. Oh, I know all about that. And how you borrow excessively to fund your lazy wife’s extravagant lifestyle? And the five trashy mistresses you support in Manhattan.”

Hilda turned bright red with humiliation.

“None of those girlfriend sluts are loyal to you, by the way,” Charles Senior said cruelly. “Smart girls. Unlike your thickheaded woman, here. She’s not faithful, either. I doubt Baby Chuckie is my grandson.”

“You horrible, horrible man!” screeched Hilda, addressing Charles Senior. Then she leapt from her chair. She whirled about, smacked her husband across his cheek, then ran from the Dining Room, sobbing.

Wendy, her face in her hands, began visibly weeping in shame. And Adelle was cringing inside, wishing she could crawl under the carpet rather than endure this scene one moment more.

“And you…!” Charles Senior rasped, turning his vengeful stare upon his oldest son. “You! You are the most disgusting of all. Why, when I think of—“

William jumped to his feet, the color draining from his face. “Don’t you dare!” he shouted in terror.

His father leaned back in his chair, his face twisted in contempt. “Get out of my sight, boy,” he growled. The words were quiet, yet simmering with anger.

Horrified, William strode from the Dining Room. He could not look at his father as he fled. José scampered after him. Then, also chastised, Samuel and Charlie Junior rose and exited. Charles Senior and Wendy were left alone at the great table.

“…oh, Charles…” Wendy moaned. “…dearest… why?”

“They disgrace the family,” her future husband said, his lip curling. “What was said tonight was long overdue, my dear. Long overdue.”

The master of Stockwood Manor picked up his soup spoon. “Woolsby,” he barked. “Where’s the roast quail? What’s become of service here?”

“Er… apologies, sir,” the butler muttered, then hurried off to the kitchen.

“Eh,” Charles Senior grunted to himself.

The old man’s black eyes strayed, coming to rest on Adelle. The billionaire and the maid gazed at one another, each keeping their thoughts to themselves.

After his brief meal, Charles Senior retreated back upstairs to his suite. Only when he’d done so, was Adelle allowed to leave the Dining Room.

She discovered a Stockwood Manor in near-chaos. Hilda had thrown an epic tantrum, demanding that she and Baby Chuckie be returned to Manhattan immediately. Every footman in the house were lugging her hastily-packed trunks out to a waiting towncar. Stomping about the Great Hall, Hilda seemed to be screaming at everyone at once.

“Am I ready to go yet?” she bellowed at Woolsby. “What’s taking so long???”

“Your luggage looks, ah, nearly ready, ma’am,” the butler replied.

“Well hurry things up!” fumed Hilda.

She spotted Adelle across the Great Hall.

“You!” the fat woman screeched. “Go get Baby Chuckie! We’re leaving! Now!”

Adelle needed no encouragement. The faster Hilda could be turned out of Stockwood Manor, the better. Idly wondering where Charles Junior was, the beautiful young maid hurried upstairs towards the Winchester bedroom-turned-nursery.

Baby Chuckie was in no mood to travel. Adelle found him in his crib, yowling and throwing his stuffed animals.

“Come along, Petit Homme,” the young maid cooed, scooping Chuckie into her arms.

The baby shrieked even louder, thrashing and squirming as hard as he could.

Fighting a bad headache, Adelle hurried back into the corridor with Chuckie in her arms. She made for the Grand Staircase. It was a little after seven o’clock.

“Oh, Adelle?” Mrs. Clatchet was approaching, looking haggard. Thérèse was with the housekeeper, carrying a laundry basket of linens from a stripped bed. Both women were exhausted. Adelle knew how they felt.

“Adelle, Mr. Oakwater wants you to bring him his evening brandy,” Mrs. Clatchet said hurriedly. “It was supposed to be served at seven sharp, but we can’t help that now. You know where we keep his spirits?”

Baby Chuckie started wailing at the top of his lungs. He struggled in Adelle’s thin arms with all his might.

Distracted by the infant, Adelle asked. “Monsieur Oakwater? Er, which one?”

“Mr. Charles Senior,” replied the housekeeper, not looking amused. “Your employer, dear.”

“Me?” said Adelle, dumbfounded. “Monsieur Oakwater wants me? Whatever for?”

“Saints be, I don’t know,” Mrs. Clatchet grumbled.

“Well, you’d better hurry,” Thérèse advised Adelle. “Charles Senior doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Oui, but…” said Adelle.

Baby Chuckie let out a high-pitched scream, then vomited all over Adelle’s tiny dress.

“Agggh!” Adelle exclaimed, aghast.

She held the baby at arm’s length, looking down at her ruined uniform in revulsion. “Fils de pute! How’m I supposed to serve brandy like this?” Annoyed at circumstances, she glared at Thérèse. “Can’t you do it?”

“Oh no,” Thérèse balked. “Mr. Oakwater doesn’t want me anymore.”

“Heavens to Betsy, girls,” Mrs. Clatchet snapped. “What’s done is done. Adelle, take care of yourself, serve the brandy, then get off to the guest suite.” The harried housekeeper bustled down the corridor. “Hurry, hurry! There’s a lot of work yet to do!”

After she returned Baby Chuckie into his mother’s arms, Adelle had no choice but to descend to the servants’ quarters for a change in wardrobe. She flew down the basement steps, hoping the oil lamps below were lit.

The young woman discovered Vivienne and Léonette in the servants’ common room, enjoying a forbidden cigarette break. When Adelle appeared, both of the other maids jumped, quickly hid their cigarettes, and tried not to look guilty.

“Hey!” Adelle exclaimed, annoyed at her colleagues.

But there were more important matters to address. “Eww…!” Vivienne said, wrinkling her nose at the stench of baby vomit on Adelle. “What happened to you?”

“Baby Chuckie,” groused Adelle. “You guys, I have to serve Charles Senior’s brandy! Its after seven! Whadda I do???”

“Com’on,” Léonette said, determined. She grabbed Adelle and hustled her into the maids’ bedroom.

“Land’s sakes, the little brat got you good,” Léonette muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “Strip everything off, you’ll have to get into a new uniform. Here, I’ll help.”

“I’ll get the new dress,” volunteered Vivienne.

Although it felt awkward, Adelle and Léonette peeled off every scrap of clothing Adelle was wearing. Somehow, Baby Chuckie had even gotten his stomach juices on Adelle’s petticoats and stockings. They all had to go. Soon, Adelle was completely naked, shivering slightly in the cool basement air.

“You still stink,” fretted Léonette. “Here…”

She hurried to the water basin, and snatched up a handcloth. The rag was quickly dipped in soap, then water. Soon, the maid was sponging off Adelle’s body, especially her chest and stomach.

“There, that’ll have to do,” Léonette muttered. “Now towel off! You’ve got to be upstairs already!”

In less than ten minutes, Adelle was in a fresh uniform, hurrying back through the Great Hall. The Grand Staircase was a mere twenty feet before her.

“You!” screeched Hilda, jabbing a finger at the fleeing young maid. Charlie Junior’s wife was still bullying Woolsby and the footmen, demanding that they rearrange all the luggage before her departure. But Adelle was not safe from her wrath.

“Adelle! Get over here!” Hilda yelled. “Did you change Baby Chuckie’s diaper? WELL? Did you?”

Pour l’amour de Dieu! thought Adelle in exasperation. She couldn’t get sucked into yet another errand; Charles Senior’s evening brandy was dangerously overdue.

“I will attend, oui, oui, Madame,” Adelle promised, already puffing her way back up the Grand Staircase.

“You get back here, little wench!” Hilda thundered. Adelle simply ran. The footmen watched her escape with envy.

The grandfather clock said 7:15. Adelle was fifteen minutes late!

The brandy cupboard was just outside the Master Bedroom Suite. Adelle unlocked it with the key she’d snagged from Woolsby, located a silver tray, empty glass, and a promising-looking brandy bottle that was half-full. Praying that Charles Senior enjoyed this particular brand, she locked up the pantry.

Then, the beautiful maid composed herself, counted to three, and knocked politely on the doors of the suite.

The doors weren’t latched, and swung open on their own. The interior of the suite was very dark.

What to do?

Adelle crept in, wondering if Charles Senior might be asleep. But she could hear someone moving about, stepping on the thick carpet. There was the rustle of clothing.

“Monsieur Oakwater?” the beautiful young maid called out.

Instantly, the other person stopped moving.

Adelle’s eyes were adjusting to the near-darkness. She was standing in a greeting-room, with an empty hearth, many stuffed chairs, and bookcases. A portrait of hawk-faced man in an old-fashioned suit hung on the nearby wall. Not far beyond, there were archways that led to other chambers… a bedroom or parlor, perhaps. The suite smelled stale, like baked food had been allowed to sit out too long.

“’ello?” said Adelle loudly. “Monsieur Oakwater? I have your evening brandy, sir…!”

She squinted. Through the farthest archway, she could see a figure in shadow, hunched over somewhat.

This is ridiculous, thought the young maid. I have to get back downstairs…!

Beside her, there was a lamp. Adelle reached for the pull-chain. As she stepped, there was a soft crunch under her shoes.

At the same time, the figure in the shadows bolted, disappearing deeper into the opposite room. There was a crash, the sound of glass breaking.

Adelle snapped on the light. The greeting room illuminated.

There was a small, one-legged end table that had been knocked over and broken. A tall lamp had also been pushed over; the remains of the light bulb were crunching under Adelle’s shoes. Two of the room’s upholstered chairs had been shoved aside.

But at Adelle’s feet, Charles Wilson Oakwater II lay on the floor, completely motionless. His body was twisted and unnaturally rigid, and his clawed hands were clutching at his own throat. And while his eyes stared blankly into space, a tortured scream was frozen on his lips.

He was dead.