They were led into a room—pushed and prodded whenever they hesitated. In the room was a circle of chairs—six chairs. Seven people.
“Let’s play a game.” Atticus’s voice was eerily cheerful. He closed the door behind them and clapped his hands like a little boy. “Musical death!” he giggled. “All around the mulberry bush—and the first one out is the first to die!”
The music began. Children’s voices, enthusiastically singing: “All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel.”
Around and around they went, shuffling slowly, casting their eyes about at one another as if to say is this really happening?
“Faster!” Atticus cackled.
“The monkey thought that all was fun….”
Looks were exchanged around the circle. Tears slid down one woman’s face. Another clutched the hand of her husband. One man looked pleadingly around at the others in the room, begging for a solution. One stared fixedly ahead.
“Pop! goes the weasel.”
The music stopped.
No one sat.
Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: "Musical Death" courtesy of Dragon Writing Prompts.