So here we go again, another resurrection, another BlogHop. This time is all about Santa and drinking. Well my story isn’t but there is drink involved. I couldn’t do a Santa based tale I’m afraid, my writing skills are still leaving a lot to be desired, so I have resurrected a wee tale from 2013 (Yeah I couldn’t believe I’d been writing for that long either).
It has had a revamp but its not cheery, so if that’s what you need at this time of year, just walk on by my friend and read something else, I promise you I won’t mind.
Even if you don’t read mine, please head on over to Ruth’s site and take part, its for fun and jollies…..
On the night of the party the path to the door was lit by torches, the living flame casting a soft glow on the surrounding gardens, banishing shadows and giving the area a warm welcoming glow. The guests arrived in all their finery, gowns and tuxedos had been purchased or rented. No one willing to skimp on cost for the first party of the season.
They were welcomed by the sons and daughters of Mr & Mrs Winston-Smyth, home from far flung places to celebrate the holidays as was the tradition. No expense had been spared and audible gasps and intakes of breath were heard as the guests moved through the halls and rooms. Champagne fountains stood in every corner, waiters glided by holding canapés so delicate that in a single bite they were gone leaving the consumer begging for more.The centre piece was a large fir tree adorned with crystals and all manor of gems, twinkling lights giving the finishing touch.
When the last guest had entered the large wooden doors were closed, shutting out the cold of the night and securing the party goers within. As a gong was sounded all eyes turned to the stairs to see Mr & Mrs Winston-Smyth seem to float down to greet their guests. He an imposing figure dressed all in black, the only splash of colour from a blood red bow tie, she was in a glorious fitted ball gown in the same blood red, diamonds shone at her throat and wrist. They were easily the best looking couple of the evening but not one spark of jealously was felt by the surrounding souls, all were in awe and deeply grateful that they had been chosen to partake in the celebration of the year.
At a nod from the master of the house music filled the air and soon everyone was laughing and dancing without a care in the world. Time and liquid refreshments flowed in equal measure, the party goers making new friends, forgiving old grievances and living life to the fullest. Too soon the older participants felt the desire to leave, to let the younger generations let their hair down just that little bit more.
As per tradition as each guest or family group chose to leave they were given a final grand tour of the manor, a chance to see sights that would break even the strongest of minds. In this room a woman tied to a rack; the next a whole family hung upside down over vats of boiling oil; and here beautiful young women standing in a line, all smiles whilst welcoming the needle sharp penetration of a solid gold blade through their still beating hearts.
Mind after mind snapped, hypnotised by the splendour of the environment and the nourishment they had received. It was no problem for the house to be full of broken minded guests, after all their only purpose now was to provide sustenance to the Winston-Smyths as they hid away during the long winter months.