As you walked back home some two and a half hours later, feet aching and arms weighed heavily down by groceries and a few new pairs of shoes (it had been a gong show trying to find ones that fit), you nearly stepped into the house before noticing the slip of paper that was pointedly sticking out of your mailbox. You grunted and stepped into the kitchen, setting down the groceries and let your arms hang limply from your sides. Stepping back outside, you pull the letter from your mailbox. The envelope was made from very expensive paper, you noticed, as it felt very soft and looked aged. Breaking the seal with your thumb, you pulled the slip of paper from the envelope, and began to read.
Dear Madame,
I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Arthur Kirkland, your neighbor just across the way. I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on moving to this fine community, and what would be better to congratulate you than a fine, home cooked meal, made by myself? I dearly hope that you do not find this letter too sudden for your tastes, but both I and my younger brother had not seen your home in use for many years, and we would be delighted to make your acquaintance. I hope that you will be able to attend.
Sincerely,
Arthur Kirkland
Huh. So, this was the guy you'd watched go into the house earlier? Inviting you for dinner was very kind of him. Alright, you thought to yourself, I'll go. But I'll have to change. Easier said than done. You didn't think just a small dinner would be too formal, but you didn't want to go and be totally underdressed, looking like a slob. No, you decided, a pair of jeans and a nice blouse would more than suffice. So, you put on your chosen clothes, brushed your teeth, and read a book until the allotted time.
A few hours later, you checked the clock and found that it was time to go. Pulling on a light jacket, you stepped out and locked your door. It was a bit windier than you thought, and you hurried across the street. The gate creaked as you opened and closed it, grateful that Mr. Kirkland had unlocked it for you. At the front steps, you rung the bell and waited.
It wasn't a minute later that you heard the knob turn. The door opened with a groan, and the very first thing you saw through the door frame was the Union Jack. Or, a patch of the Union Jack on Mr. Kirkland's knitted vest. You raised your eyes to his face, and found it very pleasant to look at. Kind green eyes, more green than you had ever seen on a regular person, stared right back. Prominent, dark eyebrows sat atop his eyes. Hair, a wheat-like blonde. But it wasn't until he smiled, and you saw his eyes squeeze shut, that he wore a smile beautifully. Arthur Kirkland extended his hand. "Hello. Ms. (L/N), I presume?" He asked. You smiled back, eyes lighting up. "Yes. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland. Thank you for inviting me." Mr. Kirkland chuckled, and moved away from the door. "Not at all!" He said, and you stepped into his home. He moved behind you, and slipped your jacket off your shoulders. As he did this, you gazed around you. "Oh…" You breathed, voice stuck in your throat. His home was beautiful. Dark, polished wooden floors, and classic antiques and paintings adorned the walls and various corners of the entrance hall. You turned to him as he hung your jacket on a coat rack and grinned. "Your home is amazing!" You say, and he startles at the compliment. You saw a faint blush work up to his pale cheeks. "I-I… Well, thank you, Ms. (L/N)." He said, and, with a nod, led you to the dining room. There were constant treasures walking along the way, all of them either extremely old or expensive. You also spotted countless doors, all closed. And Before you knew it, your eyes focused on a grand oak dinner table, plastered with different dishes. "This is the dining room, and where we will be eating this evening." Mr. Kirkland said, as he pulled a chair out for you. When you were seated, he took the liberty of pouring you a glass of lemonade. And as he poured, he spoke. "I have a younger brother, but I have no idea where he's gotten off to," he said, and finished pouring your drink. He sat the pitcher down, and took a seat directly in front of you. You had a vague feeling that Mr. Kirkland could be a very serious individual, when need be. You smiled, and, not wanting to be impolite, took a sip of your lemonade. It was perfect. Just as you were about to open your mouth, you heard footsteps clamoring down the grand staircase in the living room. Kirkland put a hand to his face, and sighed. "That boy…" He mumbled, rubbing his face with his hand, "How many times have I told him not to run down the stairs like that?" You snorted and giggled at his tone, but turned your head when you heard footsteps enter the dining room. And what you saw was bizarre.