The Man Who Came For Dinner

Monday 24th

I’m here! I made it!
Sorry… Keep forgetting…

Dear Diary –

That’s it, nice and formal. I’m here. I found the house. I think it’s Monday which means dinner is tomorrow. Can you believe it? Everything like they said it would be. Door unlocked. Bedroom where they said it’d be. Fresh clothes folded on the bed. Log fire…
Log fires! One in the kitchen and one in the sitting room. It’s fabulous. I can’t wait to see who else will show up.

Tuesday 25th

Dear Diary

Dinner is tonight. I’m so excited. I’m somewhat surprised that no one else is here yet, but you know how people are. Everything left till the last minute. It’s all going to be superb, I can feel it in my water, as Grandpa used to say.

Now, I just can’t decide between the dinner jacket and the… I mean is it going to be that formal? I have a nice pea green suit ready to wear too… If they all show up in black tie, I’ll run upstairs and do a quick change. It’ll give us all something to laugh about. You know – break the ice…

I’m so excited!

Wednesday 26th

Dear Diary

My dates may be out by a day or so. At least I think that’s what must have happened. So today is probably Tuesday. If this is the case I’ll go back and correct the headings in this journal by hand. I’ll leave it as is for the moment though, because I have no idea how I’ve made such a mistake.

No one showed.

I sat downstairs in the sitting room – waiting- on my own – for hours.
I moved to the library, which is closer to the front door, so I could hear if anyone came in. Or tried to get in. It’s still snowing heavily out there. I checked a few times to make sure the door was unlocked, to check that the snow hadn’t obscured the front door…

I wore the dinner jacket. At about midnight I took off the tie.
I don’t think I’d knotted it right anyway.

Thursday 27th

The table’s been laid since I got here. And there’s no dust anywhere, so someone was here recently enough. I don’t understand why no one else has turned up yet. It’s incredibly rude to be invited to a dinner party and then show up more than a day late. Or is it two now? I suppose it depends hoe wrong my counting is…

I mean I know the journey was hazardous. I did it. I left on time. It was tough, but… You know…

Shit.
Maybe they’re all dead.

Dear Diary. Oh shit.

Friday 28th

Diary – I’m slowly facing up to the reality that I’m the only one who made it up the mountain. My current theory is that I was the earliest to tackle the trails, and that conditions worsened for those behind me. And they didn’t survive the journey. The table is set for six – I’m not sure if this includes our host. Did he mean to join us?

What doesn’t make sense, though, is that whoever set up the house, is no longer around. Was that part of the plan? Or did he (or she) leave the safety of the house to do something and then got caught up in the terrible weather… No, that makes no sense. The weather was bad when I got here but not dangerous. Not bad enough to pick off someone who’d just popped out to fix something at the back of the house…

The back of the…

Saturday 29th

The body I found at the back of the house is completely dead. I’m sorry, I know I’m not making much sense, but this is really, really bloody upsetting. Dead! Whoever it was that invited us to dinner, seems to have arranged everything for us: made all the beds, lain out clothes, set the table and then – without even so much as an overcoat on! – left the house, walked round the back, sat down in the snow and waited. Waited to die! This makes no sense. I’m freaked out. I really am.

And I’m starving. I don’t know where this guy put all the food, but I’ve eaten pretty much everything I could find in the house. There was certainly nothing that looked like dinner for six. Some tins, some dried stuff, some unfresh-vegetables.

Someone must be coming – either the host (I’m hoping the dead guy wasn’t him) or the other guests.

If they don’t…
I don’t know what I’m going to do.

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David Baillie is a freelance writer and artist. Born almost thirty years ago in Scotland, he now lives and works in the East End of London.

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