Culture by Dey

Culture by Dey

By the time the storm cut the power, the six guests had already realized something was wrong with the dinner party. Not because of the strange old mansion. Not because the host, Mr. Vane, kept sharpening his carving knife during conversation. But because there were seven place settings.

“I assure you,” said Mr. Vane pleasantly, “everyone invited tonight is already here.”

Thunder rolled outside. Nobody laughed. The guests exchanged nervous glances. They had all arrived separately after answering the same advertisement:

SEEKING INDIVIDUALS OF CULTURE FOR AN EXCLUSIVE DINING EXPERIENCE. GENEROUS PAYMENT.

At first it had seemed eccentric rather than dangerous. Wealthy people enjoyed strange games. Then the first course arrived.

The meat was delicious. Too delicious.

“What animal is this?” asked Clara carefully.

Mr. Vane smiled. “Long pig.”

The room retained silence. A fork clattered onto a plate.

“I’m sorry,” said Daniel, forcing a laugh. “What does that mean?”

Mr. Vane dabbed his lips with a napkin. “It’s an old island term for human flesh.”

Nobody moved. Then everyone began speaking at once.

“This is sick.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m calling the police.”

Mr. Vane raised one hand calmly. “My dear guests, please. You misunderstand me entirely. I have never murdered anyone.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Clara snapped.

“Of course not,” he admitted. “Which is why I prepared evidence.”

He pressed a button beside his chair. A projector flickered alive behind him. Photographs appeared. Each guest stared in horror. Secret images. Daniel taking bribes. Clara committing fraud. Marcus assaulting a homeless man. Evelyn poisoning her husband slowly over years. The room became very quiet.

Mr. Vane folded his hands. “You are all terrible people,” he said softly. “Predators wearing civilized skin. Society simply lacks the courage to call you what you are.”

Thunder shook the windows.

“So tonight,” he continued, “I offer honesty.”

Nobody noticed the maid enter the room behind them. Tiny woman. Grey dress. White gloves. She carried a soup tureen. Mr. Vane smiled at her warmly.

“Thank you, Martha. Which guest are we serving?”

The maid looked around thoughtfully. Then she pointed at Mr. Vane.

Everyone blinked. Mr. Vane frowned. “Excuse me?”

Martha sighed. “You talk too much,” she said. “And the guests look hungry.”

Before anyone could react, she slammed the tureen onto Mr. Vane’s head with astonishing force. He collapsed face-first into the candles.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then Marcus whispered the question none of them could avoid. “…What happens now?”

Martha calmly picked up the carving knife. “Well,” she said, “it would be rude to waste perfectly good meat.”

Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, the guests glanced at each other. Dinner was less chatty tonight.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Dey 2026

Image Source: Toa Heftiba from Unsplash.com