Hues of red fill the humid air.

The residents hide behind closed doors.

The tourists huddle in fear at the hotel.

The town waits deserted and quiet.

The woods rumble with music.

Dignitaries visit from around the world.

Limousines line the paths to the glass house,

Where guests fill the dance floor.

Linda watches them laugh and drink.

An undercurrent lies beneath the gaiety.

As if evil waits to raise its ugly head.

The Dead Game has begun.


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