"Self Starter; Needs to Hit the Ground Running"

The first time I set eyes on Viktor, there was just something about him. Not attraction, exactly, although he was handsome, there was no denying that. His full, almost pouty lips contrasted with the sweeping, sharp planes of his face, high cheekbones, and strong jawline.

I felt self-conscious. I had taken great care over my appearance, styling my black bob into a distinctive 1920s style, and painting my mouth a rich shade of scarlet. Had I done enough? I smoothed my hands down my dress, and tried to inject confidence into my step.

He stood poised at the bar waiting. He looked expensive, which is to say he blended in quite well, in a way. Standing there in that impeccable suit, his shoes polished to such a high shine, that they looked like black water. Everything in the place gleamed, from the table tops, mirrors, and brass light fixtures, to the bottles crowded along the wall behind the bar, and the shelves they sat on... Still, your eye was still drawn to his feet, that looked like they'd been carved from obsidian.

His sandy hair almost brushed the shining tar-black beams, but he didn't slouch. Most people would have been staring round, looking for the people they were supposed to meet, or people watching. They'd have sipped a drink, or scrolled through their phone.

Viktor did none of these things. He exuded patience, and every stitch on him whispered of understated elegance. His hands (large, pale, and smooth), were still. It was as if he were on Pause.

Others might have curled their mouth in a self-conscious smile, or arranged their forearm just so on the bar to expose a very expensive watch. Most people think they are being looked at, or they hope as much, and they act accordingly. This trait was absent in Viktor. For all his polish, he was, in some fundamental fashion, as unvarnished as a child.

In short, there was an almost magnetic quality about him, something that was hard to define, and all the more intriguing for it. He was a rock I wanted to peer under.

He offered to buy me a drink while we waited for the others. I expected something, perhaps for him to Unpause, but his manner remained the same. I probably made a fool of myself, asking him questions about himself, trying to draw him out.

The others arrived in due course. Carmen was a post graduate student with chestnut hair and overly tanned skin. She was spilling out of her tight and shimmery magenta dress. Next came Oliver, a dashing journalist visiting from Australia with an infectious smile. Lastly, Marcus, who looked a little shabby compared to the rest of us, and who hadn't worn quite enough cheap aftershave to mask the smell of weed.

After a few rounds of expertly crafted cocktails, Viktor stood up, as if someone had clicked their fingers by his ear and made him snap to attention. He told us it was time to go, that it would be rude to be late for supper. Marcus and Carmen shot dismayed looks at the colourful drinks they were leaving behind, but Viktor bent us to his will with nothing but the sheer force of etiquette. Before we knew what was what, he was shooing us out to the waiting cab.

I stumbled a little, and Viktor caught at my elbow and steadied me. His grip was unyielding, and I got the impression he had carefully tempered it so that he didn't crush my bones.

The cab ride had an almost surreal quality, as if we had taken a wrong turning and were on our way to another world. Or, perhaps, we were already there.

Marcus was slurring his words quite a lot. I wondered if something had been added to our drinks, and then the thought skittered away, refusing to be looked at.

The townhouse was imposing. We shuffled up the path and the front steps with the sun setting at our backs. Our host was nowhere to be seen. Viktor took our coats and offered us more drinks, assuring us that Master Lucius would be with us shortly. I wasn't sure whether to judge this "Lucius" character or not. I had never been to such an ostentatious soiree. Perhaps this was normal for the eccentric and wealthy?

We moved deeper into the house, the air thickening with anticipation.

We waited in a small sitting room, glasses clutched in our hands, and looked round at the strange little room. Half of it was taken up by a grand fireplace, and half by a grandfather clock. The scant space in between was cluttered with furniture, sidetables, vases and trinkets that must have been hundreds of years old. We sipped our drinks, and giggled. I felt, for a strange sideways moment, like a tiny child trying on her father's shoes.

Lucius appeared, quite literally, amongst us. Marcus' bloodshot eyes widened, Ollie slopped his drink down his shirt, and Carmen gasped. A smile crawled across Lucius' face, as if he, too were a child. One delighted to have bested us, or unsettled us. In tandem with that slow and sparkling grin, something slimy slipped down my spine.

Don't drink anymore.

The thought was crystal clear in a fog of alcohol and peer pressure. I listened.

Lucius greeted us in turn, and I found, one on one, that he was terribly charming. His attention was rapt, as if there was nothing he wanted more than this moment, listening to his beloved guest. I even felt a chill as he stepped away to speak with Ellie.

Lucius lead us to the dining room, where the table groaned under the weight of cutlery and glasses. Viktor slipped seamlessly into his role as waiter. Between the two of them, we were superbly well attended. We wanted for nothing. Not a single glass could become empty without Lucius spotting it, and solicitously refilling it.

Mine of course, didn't get close to empty.

"Do you not enjoy it?" he asked. His gaze at my drink was pointed, and his voice, though gentle, seemed to coil like a snake, preparing to strike. "You are not pregnant," he murmured. It was not a question. I wondered, my thoughts like cotton, how he could know that. I stammered that the wine was delicious, and he impressed on me how rude it was (so very rude) not to partake, then, if it were so fine (which it was)...

I took several gulps before I could stop myself, and he nodded and moved away.

Viktor brought us course after course. I could hardly recognise what I was eating, but it was delicious. Lucius himself didn't eat anything.

"Ah," he said, "The Dock-tor has me me on a very restricted diet, I'm afraid... but I adore throwing these supper parties. Don't I, Vick-tor?" He had that odd way of pronouncing a hard C. It was almost like the word got stuck in his throat and he had to hawk it out, but he did it with such relish. Like a little boy examining a big bogey.

Viktor nodded.

When Lucius wasn't moving around his guests, refilling their glasses and ensuring their comfort, he sat in his chair and sipped from a goblet. He licked his lips a lot.

Something in my mind kept prodding me. Something about how we arrived at sunset, and our host didn't join us until after the sun had settled below the horizon. The fact he threw a supper party when he couldn't eat the supper. His crawling, toothy grin, and those wet lips. The charm, that washed over you like an oil slick.

My unease grew, but the others were blissfully unaware, ensnared by Lucius' strange charisma.

When Lucius dismissed Viktor with strict instructions not to return to this wing of the house, a chill ran down my spine.

I've got to get out.

No sooner had I moved toward the door, than he caught up with me, and begged me, with such pretty words, to stay. The others, smiles brittle and eyes shining, implored me to stay as well.

"It's bad form to leave so early. Terribly bad form." Lucius drove the point home with the twin black nails that were his eyes.

Finally, I could bear it no longer. I edged to the doorway under the huise of mingling and coversing with everyone else. I waited until Lucius was leaning close to Carmen, practically dripping down her taught and leathery cleavage, and then slid out and hurried down the corridor.

The house was enormous. I felt dwarfed by the high ceilings, and practically had to wade through plush, dark carpets. I couldn't find my way out. There were two sets of stairs; one going up and another going down.

We didn't use a staircase when we got here... did we?

After I'd circled the same floor twice and not found the exit, I tried going down a floor. Fear tingled low in my belly, and in tensified with every step, and every doorway that didn't lead outside.

We definitely didn't go upstairs.

I hurried back up, cursing myself for an idiot, and wondering how on earth I could have missed the hallway where we'd come in.

Ah! This looked familiar... I lengthened my stride, and yes, sure enough, that was the little room we'd waited in, cluttered with antiques. I looked around, panic rising. The exit must be near here!

The walls around me spun, and the ceiling seemed further away than ever. I was back at the dining room, and the way everyone was standing, it was like they never left... Lucius was still bending over Carmen, and a trickle of red slid over her collarbone and down her tanned skin.

For a ghastly, drawn-out moment, I heard slurping. My skull was full of woolly screams. Why did no one react? Couldn't they see what was happening? They just stood around with drinks in their hands, haw-haw-hawing moronically, their eyes all glassy... Couldn't they hear that- that-

-then it stopped, and he peered back at me, with an expression akin to mischief around his eyes and mouth. Like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

I turned and fled. Even if I couldn't find the door, I'd climb out of a window. We were on the ground floor, weren't we? (Weren't we?) Failing that, I'd run around this blasted house two thousand times if I had to, as long as I stayed ahead of that creature.

Every window I tried, in every room, refused to open. Any moment now I would lose it. I held back panicked sobs, but only just. Any moment now, I would feel that step behind me. Or he would materialise in my peripheral vision or-

There's the bloody door!

I tried to run towards it, but the corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, each step growing heavier.

I reached out a hand (so close) and it was at that moment I heard footsteps behind me. Panic surged through me. My vision blurred...