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Del and I were met in the hallway by some of the roguish henchmen that seemed to act as staff in the manor. They were tight-lipped as they lead us deeper into the house. Eventually we came to what appeared to be some sort of long gallery or adjoining wing. From the end I could make out lights glinting between the panes of a stained glass window. The rest of the passageway appeared to be unlit, and the bare boards creaked and moaned beneath our boots. Del gripped my arm tightly and indicated the walls, which appeared to be hung every few paces with gloomy portraits barely visible in the low light.

The subjects were, I assume, the ancestors of the Marcell line. I could make out very little other than the usual stately figures stood at repose before desks or other furnishings. There was, I could tell in the occasional flickers of light, a lot of pale patches that may have been mold upon the canvas. At least I hoped that was what it was, as the outlines did not conform to the usual shapes nature intended for the canine body. With a shudder of revulsion I turned my gaze to the light at the end of our tunnel and refused to look closer. Del, however, kept her eyes fearfully on the walls. As we came to the great doors of the ballroom she gave a whimper and turned towards me. I glanced at the portrait that had so discomfited her, but then the doors ahead were opening and closer examination was prevented.

I remember there was an impression of dirt, of oily grey and brown walls. And something, looming, hulking, pale and vile in an almost parody of the positions held by the uniformed and dandified gentry in the preceding works. But then Delilah and I stepped into the glittering lights of the ballroom and our immediate surroundings stole all other considerations.

First, there was the room its self. I had read in my youth 'the Masque of the Red Death', and the room seemed a microcosm of those plague-stalked halls. It was roughly circular, and clearly solidly built without windows or skylights to admit light. Large stained glass windows were positioned through the room between titanic pillars, and these were slid open to light the ancient iron candelabra behind to illuminate the room. In terms of furnishing, it came closest to the red room of the poem, with velvet drapes and stiff-backed chairs with crimson cushions. The floor was an interlocking herringbone of polished hardwood, which echoed under the paws of the guests. I remember that there was something subtly 'off' about the pattern, as if the circular room perfectly tessellated with the regular linear design without flaw, even though that would not be possible without some artistic flourishes.

But to be perfectly honest, dear readers, it was the guests that held my attention the most in the initial moment we stepped inside.

It seemed that Will had been a little stingy with introductions. Not only were the guests from that morning there, but a chorus, a multitude indeed, of local villagers and utter strangers to us were present. I would estimate about two hundred souls were comfortably contained inside that ballroom. And every one of them wore the same mask and robes.

Each face was contained behind a strangely bulgy, fibrous mask that hung loosely around the muzzle and jowls of the wearer. They were pale as rancid milk and neatly concealed the eyes in deep, hollow-seeming sockets. The robes, however, were of a dark red equal to any of the furnishings, and held shut with a coil of rope around the waist in the manner of a particularly austere monks' vestments. The overall effect, the uniformity and strangeness of the garb unsettled both Del and I quite a great deal. As her paws gripped my arm a little tighter I cleared my throat and tried to make light of the situation. "Don't you just hate it when you come to a party dressed like someone else," I said, although the words and the punchline seemed to fall quite flat in the suddenly hushed atmosphere of the room.

With a shuffle of parting bodies, Will made his way through the crowd. "My dear Delilah, you look radiant," he crooned, reaching for her paw. She looked at me, frightened by the sudden change in atmosphere. I nodded reassuringly and patted her paw.

"We'll stay for an hour, then we'll leave," I whispered as Will closed in, his cane thumping into the wooden floor as he approached. "We'll just grab a few things, jump in the car and go. Ok?" Del nodded and stepped reluctantly forward to meet our sinister host. As if he was trying to reassure us, or more specifically her, he removed his mask. On the whole the view was not terribly improved.

"I'm sorry about all these theatrics," he rasped. "These old things are part of a family tradition. I should have warned you, of course, but with the..." he glanced at me with a look of mock concern. "...incident earlier today it quite slipped my mind."

The background mutter of conversation began to flare up again, and we were no longer the direct focus of so many hollow and pallid stares. That seemed to invigorate my sister a little, although it put my teeth on edge. I could see that there were still a lot of knots and groups of figures watching our every move. Or more specifically, watching my sister.

I resolved to keep an eye on her myself while keeping, as it were, my back to the wall. I was aided by the almost ridiculous lengths to which the other guests seemed to avoid me. If I had though the cold shoulder at breakfast and during the hunting trip had been severe it was as nothing compared with the dirty glances and mocking laughter I was subjected to. I was pretty quickly written off by the majority of the other people there, which allowed me to circle the room and keep an eye on Del in case she got into hot water. It seemed a little paranoid, as she seemed to be quite welcome by the group. Others, like Will, were removing their masks to speak with her, although this occasionally presented an unwelcome surprise in the form of a bulging growth or blind, swollen eyeball.

During my travels around the hall I discovered the source of the light mentioned above, and got a chance to have a better look at some of the windows. Many of them seemed quite old, and had scenes of pastoral existence which at first glance were harmless enough. But a second or third glance threw up the occasional incongruous and worrying detail. One, I remember quite vividly, showed a farmer ploughing headless bodies into his fields. Another displayed an eviscerated woman holding a torch leading a mob of villagers as they stoned a clergyman. Yet another showed men hurling themselves into a pit from which glowing, open hands received them. In all, with the flickering of the candles behind them, the scenes became quite ghoulish in character.

And then there was the matter of the pillars that surrounded each lit alcove. At first I thought they might have been part of an older hall that had been built around. But soon I became aware of the fact they they had more in character with a stone ring, such as the one at Stonehenge. They were monolithic, although a lot of the bulk was hidden with drapes and furnishings. It was clear that the hall was built with them in mind as the roof supports, although the heavy rafters merely rested on them in places rather than fitted into them for greater support. The stones themselves radiated a damp chill that fogged my breath in the air, and sweated a dirty condensation in the warm air.

I kept an eye on my watch, and time had begin to crawl. I was afflicted with a dual sense of dread and boredom. The former because of the robed congregation and the latter because, from what I could tell, this was merely a rather eccentric party. As the allotted hour crawled forward I glanced up from my watch and saw something that left me rather shocked. Several of the group had retreated to one of the candle-alcoves and were, how shall I put this...in a rather compromising situation. The robes they had been wearing were open, displaying bodies racked with the now-familiar cancer-bulges of pale white tumors. I was hardly a prude, but I looked away with a flush on my cheeks. In doing so I noticed that they were neither the first nor the largest group to be displaying this lewd behaviour.

Clicking the watch case closed I strode through the robed crowd to reach Del. She was exchanging small talk with a matronly woman, who seemed quite pleasant aside from the fist-sized goitre on her throat. "Del," I hissed, "It's time to go." She nodded and turned back to her current companion to make her excuses.

"Go, Emelia?" chortled a phlegmy voice that made my blood run cold. The words were accompanied by a ripple of laughter from around us. I looked back to see Will putting his mask back over his deformed, grinning face. Behind him stood four of his thugs. Surrounding him were more of his masked friends. I spun around, looking for a way out, but Del and I were surrounded by a wall of red robes and lumpen faces. "I'm sorry, my dear, but your sister will not be going anywhere with you tonight."

"What the hell is this, some sort of bloody stupid prank?" I barked the words out, feeling my anger rising. I pulled my mask off and dropped it, glaring at Will. "Because its not very funny if it is." The robed figures moved closer. I heard Del whimpering behind me and kept switching my gaze from left to right to try and make sure nobody jumped on us.

"Oh there's no joke here, you interfering little bitch," Will snapped back. "Now I'm going to ask nicely. Get out of our way and maybe you'll make it through the night alive." He held his paws out in a conciliatory gesture. "We only want your sister. And I promise you...she won't be killed."

Something in his tone and the atmosphere told me that whatever was in store for Del was not going to be a picnic, even if she wasn't going to die from it. I launched myself at a rather stringy looking man to our right, trying to knock him down and drag Del through the press so we could make a run for the doors. However, her dress was immediately snagged by a dozen grasping hands. One of the big brutes shoved me down as I turned to try and pull her free. Immediately, feet began to hammer my ribs and head as the robed maniacs closed around me, beating at me as I tried to roll back to my feet.

Suddenly they parted, but before I could recover I was yanked to my feet and held by two of the thugs. Del was screaming as the cultists began to yank her towards the door. Most of them, however, were beginning to disrobe, chanting in some wet-gargle language as they fell upon each other with frenzied lust. I managed to get a paw free and for a brief, fleeting moment my fingertips brushed Del's. I cried her name...and then she was swept away and through the main doors.

I struggled to get free, but the men holding me were too strong. Will stumped his way over to me, chuckling so deeply that a cough racked his torso violently. He hiked up his mask and spat a glob of fibrous white matter onto the floor, and I swear I saw it curl and wriggle as if alive.

"Well so much for doing this the easy way," he rasped, settling his mask back in place. "You stupid whore...why couldn't you just have kept your nose out of it?" He nodded to his henchmen. "Do what you want with her, then kill her and put her in the hole." With that order he followed the grim, scream-punctuated procession out into the gallery. Fighting and cursing at the ruffians that restrained me, I too was lead once more out of the light and into that darkness.