The House of Lies

Written by Moe Zilla

“You'll like it here,” said Debra. “Everything is a mystery.”

Before I could digest the mystique of the mansion in front of me, or the height of its white columns, a gloomy butler swung open the door: “I heard your voices,” he barked.

I gasped and swallowed my breath. Debra tried to mask her amusement and smiled at me, reassuringly: “You're just not used to rich people,” she said, pushing me forward.

The butler, and the scowl on his face, led us down a long hallway where large statues of famous poets lined the walls: “Are they watching us?” I joked.

Debra ignored my nervous sarcasm, thanked the butler cheerfully, and signaled me to follow her to the den. “My father's friends meet here every month,” she whispered. “And they play a very strange game.”

Echoes from our own footsteps had me on edge as we made our way to a super-sized wooden door. Debra tapped on it playfully, and I held my breath. The hinges wept and moaned as the enormous door chiseled open, revealing a strange man who was noticeably short and very old. His bald head was almost shiny, and he donned an expensive, grey suit with an ugly tie. It had three different colors: purple, orange, and green.

“You look awful!” he said to Debra.” She laughed and gave him a hug.

“Is this your father?” I asked.

“No!” he said quickly. And Debra laughed again. She had promised to introduce her father to the man who solved mysteries, and I'd been nervously anticipating the meeting all night.

“I wonder how long it will take him to figure it out,” Debra giggled.

I saw a long banner hanging on the wall. It had large red letters, celebrating the group who was arriving tonight: “The Liar's Club.” The realization kicked in: everything they'd said was a lie; that was the whole catch. I was ready to beat them at their own game. “You do look awful, Debra,” I said. “And your father is a real jerk!”

They cheered and laughed, as we walked inside the room. Below the banner was a long table filled with sandwiches and desserts. The man and woman at the opposite side of the room acknowledged our presence with a head nod before returning to their conversation. One of them weighed over 300 pounds. “I hate these sandwiches,” the large man said, smiling. He took a big bite: “Especially the ones with mustard.” He wiped some mustard off his cheek, and then joyfully took another bite.

The butler shuffled in, moving so carefully that his patent leather shoes never left the ground. He was carrying a large glass bowl, which was almost filled to the top with punch. I eyed it like a liquid treasure and licked my lips. My mouth was dry from all the gasps and gulps this place was bringing out of me.

He was beginning to look like a circus juggler, making this a more difficult task than it should have been ― but my thirst controlled my thoughts. Maybe his gloves gave him less of a grip. He made it to the table, victorious, and released the bowl without spilling a drop. I moved quickly and poured myself a glass. Luke, who was still stuffing his face, watched me take down the whole cup in one gulp before he directed his attention back to the woman next to him.

“You don't need to lose any weight,” she said solemnly. “You're the healthiest man I've ever seen!”

Luke's eyes seemed to laugh, and he continued chewing vigorously. His fingers were hardly visible under the mustard that covered his hands. He flexed and I watch a glob just miss the woman. Flexing, he declared, “And the strongest!”

The woman’s name was Olivia, and she was wearing an expensive diamond bracelet that rattled when she moved her hands. Olivia's dress was expensive; it bared her shoulders, and looked very comfortable. “I never have any fun when I come here,” she said to Debra. “Never any fun at all!” Both of them laughed as though they'd been friends for years. “Your father's tie is gorgeous,” she said. And they both laughed again.

The mood changed quickly when Olivia pointed ominously to a marble pedestal at the center of the room. It displayed a glass box filled with dice. There were seven dice in the box, and each one was positioned to have rolled a six. “

There's not a story about those dice,” she confided to Debra. “And it's not the reason we gather here every month.”

Debra had never heard the story, so we huddled around the display case, gawking at it in dazed silence ― and then the room went black. It seemed like a temporary power outage, and I waited for the lights to turn back on . The room became denser...colder. I fumbled for Debra’s hand, interlocking my fingers with hers.

The whole mansion was listening to our silence. The walls seemed more alive than the people ― until someone broke the tension: “I can see perfectly,” Olivia joked.

“Me too,” said Luke. It sounded like he was still eating.

When the lights came back on, we saw a startling sight: the display case was empty ― and all the dice were gone!

We stared in disbelief, and Debra's father looked horrified. Though the dice were worth very little, they had been in his family for more than one hundred years. They had a special significance to her father, and they were the emblem and livelihood of The Liar's Club.

Sadly, he told the sentimental story behind the dice one last time, as his butler rearranged the sandwiches. His uncle had been a young man who needed to earn some money. But instead, he'd met a gambler who had challenged him to roll seven sixes. We listened on, intently.

His uncle knew it was nearly impossible to roll seven dice and have a six come up on every single one, but he'd shaken the dice and tossed them onto the ground. And for every single one, believe it or not, he rolled a six.

“The dice weren't rigged,” her father said with a grin. “He didn't weight down one side so they'd always roll a six.” He laughed uncontrollably. “His uncle had bought the dice, and they'd always made him feel hopeful, or lucky, during difficult times.” He released a long sigh, which was followed by a startled look: “Wait a minute,” he said, looking at me. “You don't solve mysteries, do you?” I pondered whether I should answer yes or no, and he angrily shouted at his guests: “Who stole my uncle's dice?”

“I did!” said Olivia.

“I did!” said Luke.

“I did!” said Debra. And now her father was even more agitated.

I held up a hand, signaling that I'd solve the crime. But looking around the room, I couldn't find a single clue. There weren't any obvious footprints on the floor, and the glass case was completely spotless. There were no suspicious fingerprints on the light switch by the door, and nothing had changed after the lights came back on. There was the table, still filled with food, and the "Liar's Club" banner still draped the wall.

“Did the butler do it?” Olivia said playfully. She'd read several mystery books where the man behind the crime turned out to be a sneaky butler.

“Your dice weren't so lucky tonight,” Luke joked. “Er, I mean they were lucky tonight. I mean ―.”

“Cut it out,” Debra's father said impatiently. “I'm tired of playing games, and I want my dice back!”

Sarcasm turned to shock in the room. They'd never heard him make a statement that wasn't a lie. Debra's father had broken the rules.

I was feeling impatient, too. “Listen up, Liar's Club," I said, carefully choosing my words so they'd understand. “I don't know who stole your dice. And I'm not going to identify the thief now..."