Alex Rider had a problem. Here he was, on his vacation, with a grand total of 14 corpses on his hands.

It wasn't as if he killed them. They were here first, like unwelcome guests crashing his party. They were clearly warnings. The question was, warnings from who, or more accurately, why?

He silently recounted the past few weeks. Just as I thought. I have not done a thing to piss off any or all mad multimillionaires or psycho dwarves holding grudges. So why the hell are there 14 bleeding bodies in my dining room?

The answer came to him in an instant. Of course. The source of all my problems. Why should this be any different? He felt a flash of annoyance.

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to clean this place up before Sabina comes at seven?" he grumped.

Suddenly, the full impact of the situation crashed into him with all the impact of the Big Bang. There are 14 corpses in my dining room! Why are there 14 corpses in my dining room? I'm on vacation! Please please please let me have a one week vacation with no corpses...!

He felt his breathing speed up. His pulse quickened. No. I will not panic. Panic is my enemy. Bad panic. Panic is bad! NO PANIC!

His breath came in short little gasps. It didn't help that the smell of rot was wafting to his spot in the kitchen. He turned to the sink and dry retched.

Chest heaving, he reached with shaking hands to fill a cup with cool tap water. Nothing is wrong. I will look again and nothing will have changed. My dining room will be clean, fresh and empty.

He turned slowly. There is nothing there. Nothing at all. AT ALL. He faced the horrid room reluctantly. Nothing. Empty. I am being stupid. The lobster didn't agree with me. I swallowed seawater. I took a puff. There was something in the fish. I should have stopped at the third Shirley Temple. His mind flitted through other excuses that could explain what he was seeing.

If he was hooked up to three dozen needles in a rat lab in the middle of Tuscan, imagining things while evil doctors studied his REM sleep patterns, it was better than dead bodies in his summer cottage.

He finished his slow turn around. The stench of rot was real. There were 14 dead people on his formal table.

"Damn" he said. Then he fainted.