What Happens After Midnight

by K.L. Walther

I wish we could go back, I thought, the words a murmur in my mind. I wish we could go back to the very first night…

Hubbard Hall looked like a mansion that once belonged to the last great American dynasty.

It was a black envelope with spelled out in colorful cutout magazine letters. Creepy ransom note-style. My stomach began stirring as I quickly ripped open the flap and pulled out a piece of cardstock. Again, no handwriting—only the magazine letters. It said: The game is almost afoot.

It’s happening in forty-eight and you have twenty-four to decide. Will you join my band of fools? Email TheJesterXXIII@gmail.com with your answer. If yes, be ready for further instructions.

“Why me?”

“Although after you turned six, it became difficult wrangling you into bed with Taylor Swift blasting on the other side of the door. You always wanted to go dance with the girls in the common room.” Honestly, it explained why my go-to karaoke song was “The Story of Us.” One of the girls

“When’s the murder happening?” everyone always asked. “No body, no crime,” we always answered.

The golf cart served as our getaway car, but it turned out a getaway car wasn’t truly a getaway car if you were taking what you wanted to get away from with you.

“This is happiness,” Tag said reverently. “Happiness, all because of you.”