The golden clock on the marble mantle struck twelve as the heavy velvet curtains swayed in the cold midnight breeze. Arthur lay across the Persian rug while a thin trail of ruby blood seeped into the intricate floral wool patterns. No one heard the muffled gunshot because the crashing thunderstorm outside masked the violent sound of the silver snub-nosed revolver. Lady Penelope stood near the oak door gripped by a freezing terror that rendered her elegant limbs completely and utterly. Her diamond necklace glittered under the dim chandelier light but her wide eyes remained fixed on her husband’s pale face. A single white rose rested upon his chest as a silent calling card from the phantom killer who escaped tonight. Somewhere deep within the sprawling manor a floorboard creaked loudly as the invisible predator began to hunt for another victim. The game of death started with a simple scream that echoed through the empty halls of the ancient stone estate.