Young Writers Society

Welcome to Laurguay Island, owned by reclusive billionaire Reagan Lowe. You are renowned in your profession, talented, adored by all. And yet, on the first night of your luxurious stay, Reagan Lowe slumps over into her soup bowl-- and she does not wake up. Someone has killed her-- someone among us.

Who it is remains a mystery-- but it is clear they are still out for blood. And when a massive storm blocks any way to reach the mainland for the next two weeks until the next ferry arrives, everything is in mass chaos. Who do you trust, when you know someone wants everyone dead? Who do you believe, when the clues remain scattered, and no one knows why they are doing it? You better hurry-- one person will die every day for the next two weeks until the boat arrives, and the only way to stop the murderer is for everyone to agree on them-- or for someone to take things into their own hands. Seven days to figure out who is killing people. Seven days to stay alive.

Brian Astor

Head of Staff

Brian Astor stood on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the water. He held his hands behind his back, posture straight, calm expression with a slight frown of seriousness. His salt-and-pepper mustache moved slightly in the wind, the sea-air making everything smell salty and fishy, even though he knew it was a lie of nature. The rocks near the cliff made it a death trap for any fish or ships that might venture near it.

The staff had been in a fuss the past several days, attempting to prepare for the guests that would nearly double the population of the island. This was the first time in days Brian had had a moment of silence to step away, though he wouldn't go so far as to say he had a moment of peace. There was always something else that needed to be done.

In a way, it seemed almost unbelievable that the time had finally come. Over his years of working for Miss Lowe, she'd talked countless times of bringing everyone here and confronting them on their bad deeds, but she'd always seemed certain that she hadn't found the final person who had, in some way or another, wronged her and the world. And every time, she'd said, "Brian, I do wish I could bring them... but I just feel it isn't right. I feel there is one missing." And she would be right. Inevitably, through some method or another, she would find another who had wronged her-- and she would add them to the list. Seven people now. And when she had reached the final person and learned their awful deed, she had said, "Yes... I think that is everyone." And she had looked at him with a hint of a smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she watched him.

"Do you want me to send out the invitations?" He had stood tall again, hair slicked back to perfection. They had grown older together throughout the years, but he had not allowed himself to fall off of his routine.

"Yes. Yes, please do. And you have the secrets documented?"

"Yes, Miss Lowe."

"And the money? Everything everyone has done with the money?" She had seemed almost frantic at the time, her wrist grasping onto his tightly to stop him from leaving.

"Yes, Miss Lowe," he had responded patiently, pulling his arm out of her grasp. She had loosened her grip, seeming to become lost in thought, nodding slowly.

"Alright... alright. Yes. Then I do believe that is everything then." There had seemed, he'd noted at the time, almost a sadness to her voice. However much it had hurt her to be wronged, the chase of it all had exhilerated her throughout the years.

"It will be alright, Miss Lowe," Brian had reassured, straightening his suit jacket.

"I know, I know," she'd said, almost impatiently, waving her hand. "Just change, that's all."

Brian had nodded in agreement, but said nothing more.

That was six months ago. And all the guests had responded with their acceptance of the invitation-- they'd had no choice, after all. Either not come and allow her to leak the information, or agree to meet her in person and hope to work out something else. Not that it would work. Miss Lowe was a stubborn woman, as Brian had learned and clashed with all too often throughout his years of service. He doubted she could be convinced to change her mind on any of the cases, least of all because of her strong sense of moral justice.

"Mr. Astor!" Tripp Davis, the sole security guard on the island, called out to him as he walked up the grassy hill towards the cliff. Voices got carried away in the wind here, so he had to shout. "They are beginning to arrive."

Brian Astor straightened his suit jacket on reflex, and smoothed out his mustache with his fingers. Almost absent-mindedly, he reached up to make sure none of his hair had fallen out of place. Then, he clasped his hands behind his back and turned to Tripp and nodded.

"Make sure no one wanders, but allow them to make their own way to the house," he responded, and Tripp nodded, hands resting on his belt as his blue eyes seemed to stab into Brian.

"Yes, sir." Tripp walked away slowly, his broad tall figure standing out against the grassy scenery on his way back down the hill towards the house. Brian could see the sole dock to the island from up here, with a small boat pulled beside it. He could even see a few small figures climbing out of the boat, though he was too far away to make out who was who.

He turned back to the sea one more time, the waves crashing against the cliff and the rocks below, the sun high overhead. He took in a deep breath, then exhaled, before turning away from the cliff edge and walking back towards the house, following the same path Tripp had taken down the hill.

Janus Sheffield

The Lawyer

The first thing Janus noticed was the sudden cry of birdsong. There weren't many birds in the city, and he spent most of his time in the concrete heart of *insert big city here*. The boat rocked gently as though it was leading Janus to a simple dinner party or perhaps a pleasant dream in the shade. It certainly didn't feel like the boat marching him to the end of his career like damned souls marching to the frozen lake of Hell.

But that was a thought process for a different time.

He dog-eared his page and shoved War and Peace into his messenger bag. He'd be able to finish it later when he convinced Miss Reagan Lowe that she had it all wrong and should allow Janus to take the next ship home. Obviously.

He threw his bag over his shoulder and started making his way to Miss Lowe's home, the most fabulous smile on his face. Miss Lowe would see him and immediately know she had made some mistake. He could feel it in his bones. Call it an attorney's intuition.

Janus glanced up at the mansion at the peak. It looked... cozy.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. It would be just fine. No one could resist Janus's sweet talk.

Just then, a blur of movement caught his eye, and he barely had a chance to register it before the thing was lunging at him, yipping and licking all over his face with a leash strung out behind it.

"Daisy!" A young man called out, running after the dog. He was short, pale with freckles and coppery hair, and holding onto the leashes of at least four other creatures, all of which were tugging in every direction, varying in size and color and fur length. The man grabbed the leash of the thing on top of Janus and pulled it off, seeming to catch his breath slightly before saying, "My apologies, sir, she's extremely rowdy." The young man took a few more seconds to catch his breath before asking, "Are you one of the guests, sir? Can I help you?" He struggled to maintain his balance as the creatures barked and jumped in different directions, eager to continue on their walk.

Janus stood up, hastily checking his messenger bag to ensure nothing was crushed in the vicious attack. "I'm quite fine." He took a second to wipe the excess spit off of his face. "She just caught me by surprise, is all."

"Apologies, sir," the young man said again, keeping a steady grip on all the leashes. "Can I help you find where you're going?"

Janus cleared his throat. "Oh, I'm just heading to Miss Lowe's abode. But, if the rooms are confusing, then guidance might be helpful." He turned his lawyer smile back on again. Who knows what Miss Lowe told her staff? This man might know everything about Janus.

The young man smiled politely and said, "I can show you to the entrance if you like. Another staff member should be available there to help you find your room and carry your belongings."

Janus hummed. "Sure. Thank you kindly."

The young man held onto the dog's leashes with an iron grip and walked unsteadily along the hillside path.

Janus walked after the staff member. He was handling those dogs well enough, so he had a decent bit of strength. He didn't seem the talkative type, which could either be a fantastic thing or a harbinger of doom.

Janus needed to know which one.

"So, what's your name?"

The young man glanced at him and said, "Elijah, sir."

Janus nodded. "Sheffield. Janus Sheffield."

Elijah nodded and didn't indicate that he knew or recognized the name.

That was fine. Not many people recognized the attorneys' names; all that meant was that Miss Lowe wasn't sharing specific... ideas with the rest of the staff.

That, or Mr. Elijah, was just a damn good actor.

Janus scanned Elijah again, but he came up with nothing. So that's all he was getting, he supposed. At least not without characterizing himself as the extroverted guest, and he wasn't quite in the mood for having that as his front again.

He instead turned his gaze to the island. After all, he was leaving by tomorrow, so he might as well memorize it now. Plant life was never his expertise, and he had only bothered to learn about hydrangeas thanks to their tendency to change color in blood-soaked soil. That sort of thing just looked good to juries. All things tropical were far outside his jurisdiction, so there was no point in wasting his mental capacity. Memory was a commodity, and Janus had learned to use it well.

He glanced back up at Elijah. Everyone on this island needed to claim a spot, just in case. He could never know too much about the people around him. Besides, once Janus grabbed one thread of a person, it wasn't long before their entire being unraveled into his hands. One opinion led to the next, one dream to its foundation until he could build a spitting image of the person in front of him in his mind. From there, he'd know exactly how to tug a person this way and that. It became much more complicated when dealing with people who knew how to save face, but even they had to crack eventually. Put pressure on a specific spot for a long time; it was doomed to break if it was hollow.

Janus was a very patient man. He was willing to play the long game if anyone here was like that.

"Excuse me? How much longer until we reach the entrance?"

"Nearly there, sir," Elijah said, pulling to a stop as the hill they'd been climbing for what felt like forever finally leveled out. "This path takes us to the front doors."

Janus nodded.

Elijah began down the path in front of Janus, holding tightly onto the beasts.

The mansion was far as estates go, relatively plain. Which seemed like an oxymoron, but Janus had seen enough extravagant homes to know when a mansion was borderline bland. Perhaps that would make Miss. Lowe slightly less narcissistic than most mansion owners. That or she found morality in leaving her slave labor home undecorated.

"What a lovely home."

"Miss Lowe's estate is expansive and beautiful," Elijah said, smiling. Janus couldn't see any hesitation or insincerity, which was slightly... perturbing because it meant Elijah was genuinely happy to work here.

Well, that could still be useful for something.

"Have you worked here a long time?" Maybe Elijah knew the estate well enough to be a helpful guide on how to leave in the morning.

"This is my fourth year," Elijah said.

Janus hummed. Four years seemed like a decently long enough time to learn an estate. Unless Elijah was entirely incompetent, but that didn't seem too likely as of yet.

"Do you live on the island or...?" He purposely left the question hanging, like nailing a coat hanger to the wall for guests to freely use. Hanging questions let everyone twist them to their will. And nothing told you more about a person than how they weaved their words.

"I do," Elijah replied with a bright smile. But then, one of the creatures, the one that assaulted Janus, tugged sharply, and Elijah nearly slipped and fell, regaining his balance and control as he scolded, "Daisy!"

Janus sneezed. "Are the... dogs going to be a common part of this visit?"

"Not if you don't want them to be, sir," Elijah said.

"While I'm sure they're... wonderful." He sneezed again. "I tend to be allergic to such things."

"They can be put away in the pet room for the duration of your stay," Elijah said. "I'm sorry, I was unaware any guests had allergies!"

Janus waved his hand in the air, dismissing the apology. "I doubt it was your job to collect that information."

Elijah said, "The pets are my duty. They'll be put away right after their walk."

Janus nodded. "That should suffice. Thank you, Mr. Elijah."

Elijah nodded and said, "Of course, sir."

Janus sneezed again. "So, if you live on the island, do you have any family on the mainland?"

Elijah said, "My parents, brother, and a large extended family." He smiled. "And you, sir?"

"Oh. Are you three close?" Janus very purposely ignored that last question. The way a person twisted questions told their entire life story.

Hopefully, Janus's life story told everyone not to touch the subject of his personal life with a metal pole the size of Antarctica.

Elijah seemed to take the hint because he said, "We are. We talk often."

Janus nodded. "That's nice."

Elijah smiled and pulled to a stop before a small set of stairs, several dogs jumping up toward him for attention. "These are the front doors, sir."

Janus smiled. "So they are. Thank you for your guidance, Mr. Elijah."

"Of course, sir! Let me know if I can be of any more assistance!" Elijah smiled, then began walking back in the opposite direction, the jobs jumping and tugging around him, the young man somehow maintaining his balance in the chaos.

Janus shook his head. Some people seemed to remain the eye of the hurricane perpetually. And that Elijah might be one. He turned his attention back to the doorway.

To the belly of the beast, harpoon in hand. Miss Lowe was going to let him go home tonight.

Adelaide Potterstone

The General

Adelaide Potterstone stood at the docks where the ferry had left her. So this was Laurguay Island. Her eyes scanned the scenery in front of her. She picked a flower from one of the bushes that had been perfectly manicured, set it neatly in a napkin, and placed it in her purse. It was a gift for her daughter, Bea, who collected flowers. Adelaide had no idea how she got into that hobby.

She walked up the path to the manor, insisting that she carry her own luggage. She wasn't going to get out of shape just because she was on vacation. Well, Adelaide wouldn't exactly call it a "vacation." More like an obligation, or prison sentence.

"Do you know why she's invited you there, Addy?" her husband, Wilson Richards, had said before she left.

"Not a clue," Adelaide had replied. Wilson could never know what his dear wife had done; it would probably kill him.

The house appeared over the horizon. Adelaide rolled her eyes as soon as she saw it. She had heard rumors about Reagan Lowe's house, but she had never laid eyes on it herself. The General took a moment to scrutinize the exterior: the peeling paint, the unpleasant shadows that fell on it in the afternoon sun, the stray cobweb-infested corners.

"Who knew billionaires could live in such terrible conditions," Adelaide mumbled under her breath. Maybe, years ago, she would have been less critical of Ms. Lowe's home. But, now, after the events that had transpired between the two women, Adelaide couldn't contain her cynicism.

Adelaide set down her suitcase and computer bag with a thud! She reached for the doorbell but, before her fingers could even graze the button, the door was opened wide in front of her.

"Welcome to Laurguay Island, Ms. Potterstone," a well-dressed servant greeted her.

Dakota Landsing

The CEO

Dakota Landsing glanced at their watch. The silver hands indicated that it was five minutes to one, and Dakota smiled as they rubbed a watermark off the otherwise-spotless watch face. They were right on schedule, as usual.

As they strode down the corridor leading out of the office, they pulled their face into a well-practiced grin and called out greetings to their employees, addressing each by name. Chicks for Children wasn't a particularly large organization (yet), and Dakota had a good head for names and faces. They'd see what happened as Chicks for Children expanded overseas, however-- they were already meeting at least twenty new people a week as they set up branches in England and China. But for now, Dakota could easily wave goodbye and call each of their employees by name as they left the building.

Dakota ran through a list of final checks as they slid into their Tesla to drive to the airport. Jennifer's got a handle on the day-to-day matters, and Karman will contact me if anything happens, so that should be fine. We just had the building inspected a couple of weeks ago, so there won't be any more cockroaches... And I turned off the lights in my office, right? Yes, I'm sure I did. Dakota took a deep breath as they pulled into valet parking, and after a moment, they grabbed their purse and luggage and exited the car.

They supposed they could’ve been chauffeured to the airport, but, well, the less people who knew about this little trip the better. Their employees were under the impression that Dakota was traveling to a remote island for a long-overdue vacation. Ha, as if! Who had the time for a vacation? Instead, Dakota’s little luxuries at home, like a beautiful 15th century Ming vase and a collection of absolutely-worth-the-price gold-plated scented candles, gave them all the happiness they needed. It was quite unfortunate that Dakota could never seem to separate the candles from the memories of that person, the one who’d given them their first scented candle… Dakota ignored the ache of remembrance.

As Dakota strode into the airport, they checked their watch again, making sure they were still on schedule. Perfect, they thought. I still have an hour before the flight. Perhaps a cup of coffee and some research on overseas markets will do me good.

Once they reached their gate, Dakota chose a seat and opened their laptop. The hour passed in a blur, and before they knew it, there was a call for boarding. Dakota neatly packed up their belongings and entered the plane.

The flight went as well as could be expected. Dakota had bought a first-class ticket, of course, and although the view outside the window was pleasant, the refreshments were merely acceptable. Dakota supposed they’d have plenty of time to enjoy gourmet sushi after they dealt with this little matter regarding Miss Lowe. At least they’d been able to have a casual conversation with the person sitting next to them– Dakota made a mental note to read the mystery books she’d recommended.

When the plane touched down in a small airport, Dakota exited and immediately washed their hands in a nearby restroom. They took a moment to smoothen their suit as well. Alright, Dakota. It’ll be an in-and-out operation. It should take no more than a few days to work out an agreement with Miss Lowe. And then I can get on with the rest of my life without her holding anything over my head. Dakota smiled at themself in the mirror, spun on their heel, and walked out of the restroom, checking their watch one more time.

The boat ride to the island was uneventful, and Dakota stepped onto the island, suppressing a shudder at the natural landscape. It was awfully odd to not be surrounded by streets and skyscrapers. And the mansion in the distance could barely hold a candle to Dakota’s own living quarters back home. They sighed softly, then carefully picked their way towards the building. Well, looking on the bright side, this would undoubtedly make them appreciate their luxuries at home even more. That is, if Miss Lowe kindly decided not to ruin their career and life.

Donna had booked the earliest ferry. The autumn wind and dark sky sent a shiver right through the red wool of her coat. She pulled it tighter around herself, shifting in her seat, exhaling over her hands to warm them.

Her phone buzzed. Her mouth thinned as she took it out of her pocket and saw it was Clint, her chief of staff. Of course. Of all the people she told about her sudden need for a vacation, Clint had been the most peeved. She understood why—there were just three weeks before the midterm elections, and she was up for reelection. For all the grey hairs she'd earned from her campaign, she was certain Clint had earned tenfold.

Also, it was five AM. Clint was the only person (other than herself) who would be lucid enough for a phone call at that hour.

She slid a finger across the screen and held it to her ear. "Hello, Clint."

"Senator Pierce, you chose the worst time to leave."

Donna sniffed, the chill in the air making her nose run. "Couldn't be avoided. What do you need?"

"Reassurance. You swear you'll be back soon? Because you know how important your speech at Johns Hopkins is. Please tell me you know how important it is."

"I know, Clint."

"You don't sound like you do. You know every event counts now as we get closer to the voting date. Especially if you're considering a presidential bid in two years—"

"I know Clint," she repeated emphatically.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm just— why did you have to leave, Donna?"

"Couldn't be avoided," she repeated.

"I just don't like not knowing where you are. Taking this big of a break in the middle of your campaign is unprecedented and unwise."

"It's only four days."

"Four days just before midterms is worth more than any of the other campaigning we've been doing for the past six months."

"Might even be less than four."

"I hope to god it is."

"I do too." Donna adjusted her coat. "Anything else?"

Clint gave a sharp intake. "Frida also thinks it'd be good to post to the socials about Ms. Pierce, and I agree. Her pregnancy can be a selling point, you know, show moderates that you care about loving families and whatnot—"

"Georgia is not a selling point, Clint. She's my wife."

"I only meant that—"

"No, no, I know what you meant. I'm sorry. I've been... yes. I understand. I'll talk to her about it and get back to Frida." Donna stared off into the fog. "Is that all?"

She heard Clint sigh into the speaker. "Yes, that's all. Have a good vacation, Senator."

"Thanks. Give Gabe and your kids my best."

"I will." With a click, Clint was gone. Before putting her phone back into her pocket, she sent a quick text to Georgia, keeping her up to speed.

Donna shifted once more in her seat, craning her neck over the edge of the boat. The just-rising sun filtered through the misty dawn. If she squinted, she could see Laurguay Island in the distance, shadows of feathery trees and craggy rocks reminding her of her childhood summers spent on the Pacific coast.

She reached into her bag and took out a stick of lip balm, carefully applying it to her mouth. No sooner had she clicked it shut than her phone buzzed from her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting it to be Clint with something he'd forgotten to mention while on the phone. To her surprise, it was Georgia, replying to her message about Frida and the social media post.

gotcha thats fine with me
ill send some over to her or email her or whatever she wants
are you there yet

Donna smiled at her wife's signature typing style— no capitalization, punctuation, or regard for conventional grammar rules. Thinking about Georgia made her mood as gray as the environment around her. While leaving her campaign was troublesome, leaving her pregnant wife with nothing but the company of their dog Jupiter was what really made her anxious.

On the boat right now, she thumbed back. You're up early.

had to vomit <3, Georgia replied. better now tho i ate some cheerios

Sending you hugs.

preciate it
lmk when u get there

I will. Miss you. <3

Donna shut off her phone once more just as the boat glided next to the dock. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted her glasses and coat lapels. She walked confidently off the ferry, her patent leather boots rapping smartly against the dock. No one was there to greet her, but a path led up to a large mansion that, since it was the only structure she could see on the island, she assumed must be Reagan Lowe's home.

Taking one last deep breath, her thoughts retured to Georgia. She smiled grimly as she started up the path towards the house. In and out. That's all this would be.

If all went well, she'd be back home by tomorrow.

Stella schooled her face into a scowl as she stepped of the boat. This island was disgustingly sweet. The birdsong, the sway of the boat that had brought them all here and the sheer natural beauty this island seemed to boast. It was something that was hard to find in the city, and taking a vacation was almost always out of the question. It had been a while since Stella had been an environment this... pure. That was the best place to put it. It was a long way away from set. That didn't mean she was letting her guard down yet. She wasn't here on vacation. One couldn't call this a vacation as much as one could call a tiger a house cat.

It took her a moment to properly school her expression once again as she made her way out with her suitcase. She'd packed light for this trip thankfully but she still had four suitcases. Appearances needed to be maintained and as long as she lifted her own suitcases, no one would realize two of her largest were stuffed full of very light teddy bears to snuggle. I would earn her a bit of good will with the staff here to not make them carry the suitcases too. Two birds, one large suitcase sized stone. Or was that four stones.

As she began the walk up to where the rooms, well the mansion would be, Stella ran through all her options again. This was going to be a rather dangerous game of cat and mouse. She had no doubt she was likely going to be subjected to some less than pleasant activities to dodge this bullet. Well it looked she wasn't dodging it exactly, more like surviving by the skin of her teeth and even that was going to likely cost her an arm and a leg. Lowe had all the cars in her hand right now and Stella had absolutely no doubt she would play them all and make Stella dance like a puppet. Its what she would do.

Stella let out a little sigh. Who would've thought that being the heroine long enough to see herself become the villain was going to end up quite so true. Perhaps the first movie she'd done had been sending her a message after all. Oh well, every friend who'd jokingly warned her about that was now long gone and dedicated to bringing her down.

She marched forward, trying to look as impressive as she could while grunting and heaving with four suitcases. Maybe she shouldn't have picked the most unwieldly ones for this deception or filled them with bricks and made someone carry it in. She was going to be adding another thing to her list of things to regret.

Gabby Birdman

The Athlete

The mansion was just as intimidating as Gabby thought it would be. It was huge, with tall windows and dark, solid walls. Gabby shifted her backpack on her shoulders and adjusted one of her AirPods. "CUFF IT" was helping to calm her nerves, but there was only so much the music could do.

As she walked across the grounds, a small suitcase in one hand, Gabby's mind swarmed with thoughts. Almost all of them were focused on Reagan Lowe. She imagined how they would meet later that night, what Lowe would say. What Gabby would say back. But what would she say? That's the million-dollar question, Gabby thought, bouncing along to the beat in her headphones. She did a little dance as she walked, sliding across the lawn. (That was the key: acting confident. If you acted confident, you felt more confident. And Gabby needed to feel more confident.)

Lowe hadn't given her much of a choice, had she? She could've leaked the information to the press at any time. But here she was, holding onto it, just so she and Gabby could talk about it over dinner. It was halfway decent of her to keep it a secret for so long, Gabby mused. But the fact remained that Lowe still knew. And the fact remained that Gabby had a choice to make.

You've already made your choice, a little voice in Gabby's head said. The voice of Beyoncé faded from her AirPods, and Dua Lipa took its place. All you have to do is commit, the voice urged over "Levitating." You have a plan, remember? When Reagan Lowe walks up to you tonight and asks you about you-know-what, what are you gonna do?

Gabby readjusted her grip on her suitcase. She did have a plan. The thought flooded her mind, filling her chest like a breath of fresh air. She had been thinking about the plan for weeks, months, since the invitation first arrived. All she had to do was stick to what she had decided. The confidence in her steps was real, now. She remembered exactly what she was going to do. She was going to look Lowe straight in the eye, take a deep breath, and--

She tripped mid-step and flew forward, her hands shooting out to catch herself just in time. She stayed there, in a half-plank position, for a few seconds before getting back to her feet. Looking up, she realized she was at the front stairs of the mansion. She had tripped over the first step.

No turning back now, Gabby thought as she grabbed a hold of her suitcase and walked up the stairs. Act confident, don't think too much, don't look back. Nothing she could do now but go forward.

She knocked on the door to Reagan Lowe's mansion. It opened.

"Welcome to Laurguay Island."