Free Holiday of the Dead by Wayne Simmons, Thomas Emson, Shaun Jeffrey, A P Fuchs, Rod Glenn, Tony Burgess, David Dunwoody, Remy Porter, John Russo, Bowie V Ibarra

from the guest parlour into the dining room, downing three fingers of whiskey on the way to steady himself.
    Deep, staggering breaths calmed juddering spasms of the heart and lessened the outpouring of moisture beneath his armpits, along his spine, and at his crotch. He pulled out a silken handkerchief and wiped away the layer of grime that had formed along the back of his neck and the edges of his receding hairline.
    He hoped no one noticed, but knew they were scrutinizing his every move.
    Warren was the first to enter the dining room, leading a group of people whom had never deigned visit or call in spite of the so-called familial allegiance. They could contemplate and commit murder together, sure, but a friendly “hello-how’s-things-going” was out of the question. He immediately moved to the head of the table on the far end.
    The table itself was almost as large as the room and laden down with so much food it could feed a starving nation for a day. Warren had not skimped on the selection, at least seven dishes for each guest in attendance. And more of the same just waiting to replace emptied bowls. Mostly the staples of the holiday, but with a few of the more expensive cuisines sprinkled in to appease more refined palates.
    Six place settings were prepared including Warren’s own. To Warren’s right was a seventh seat, the furniture and place setting covered by a voluminous white sheet. There was an empty, eighth chair between this enigma and the next setting.
    The guests milled around the doorway, unsure what to make of the scene. Wary, hostile glances washed over the white sheet. Warren realized he would need to placate them in order to further the evening’s plans, the aroma of fine victuals not enough to override and entice. Another moment of truth to hurdle. “The reason I wanted us all t-together is under this sheet,” he offered in the same mousy tone and stuttering cadence Warren always unconsciously affected around his kin.
    “Funny,” Ophelia sneered. “Cyn said this all had something to do with old Uncle Gerald. Not your laundry.”
    Jerry, ever the sycophant, was nodding enthusiastically at his wife’s side. He even set his lips in a snarl in time to Ophelia’s own expression. Warren could never tell if Jerry was loyal to his marriage out of a real desire to be with his shrew sister or out of financial dependency. Most likely the latter; Ophelia was only obsequious or courteous to those above her station. Why she chose to shack up with a rat from the low end of society in spite of lofty ambitions and tastes was a puzzle best left unfathomed.
    “P-please,” Warren said, indicating for them to enter and find a chair. Trickles of icy sweat were running down his spine. He hoped none of the anxiety he felt gnawing at his bowels was showing on his face. “If you’ll just take a seat and s-start eating … there’s a lot to c-cover.” He tried to finish with a smile but his lips faltered.
    Cynthia was the first to seat herself. Just the catalyst Warren needed.
    Jerry followed suit, remarking how much a waste it would be to let dinner grow cold as he noticed the many bottles of vintage wines and spirits lying in the open liquor cabinet and the piles of fruit-filled pies and sweets laden on the dessert cart.
    They stepped into the dining room until they were all finding a place at Warren’s table. In the six years since their mutual, ill-gotten windfall this cosy scene had never once come to pass.
    The door swung shut with a barely audible click. A second later there was a louder thrum and several heads turned to regard the door. It was the only way in or out.
    Warren could see suspicion written in Paul’s gaze through his thick glasses as their eyes locked across the landscape of delectable delights.
    “Uh, that door has a h-habit of sticking. I h-had stronger h-hinges installed to ensure that it closes flush,” Warren lied. “Dig in. No need to stand on any formalities. We’re all