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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/DrElsewhere on 2024-10-29 12:42:02+00:00.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Wait, can you repeat that?”

My father rolled his eyes. “It’s not as weird as it seems, Maggie.”

I put on my socks, covering up the birthmark on my left ankle that was shaped like a heart. I was embarrassed about it while growing up before my father told me that birthmarks were kisses from angels. It made me feel unique and special. He always knew what to say to assuage my anxieties.

But now my father was the one who should be anxious. What he was proposing was crazy.

“Dad, people you haven’t seen in twenty years are giving you $25,000 to come to a dinner party. That seems weird because it is.”

My father slowly got to his feet from the chair in my room and leaned against my dresser. He was out of breath from the movement. He has been in poor health lately, especially since my mom died last year. My mom, Martha, had helped him during the initial phases of his decline but since her death my dad hadn’t been doing too well. I moved in with him to help out around the house and drive him to his doctor visits, not to mention keeping him company with jokes and stories. It’s the least I could do. As his daughter, looking out for him was my duty and that’s why I demanded he skip the dinner party hosted across the country.

He grabbed my hand and the warmth was reminiscent of all the fond memories I had of him. Knowing he was in ill-health, at only 58 years old, always made my throat dry and my eyes well with tears. He wouldn’t be around forever and this thought made me upset.

“Honey, I haven’t seen the Remberts in twenty years. Your mother and I were very close with them until we had to move to Florida. We had a tight-knit group of friends in California and it would be a delight to see them again. The Remberts know the only way to get everyone together is to entice us.”

“With $25,000?”

My father laughed. “Trust me, they can afford it.” He grabbed his suitcase and lifted the telescopic handle. “Wait until I send you photos of their mansion. You’ll understand how rich they are.”

“You don’t have to send me photos,” I said and disappeared inside my walk-in closet.

“Why is that?”

I emerged with my own luggage in hand. “Because I’m coming with you.”

He refused at first but I didn’t take “no” for an answer. My father was unhealthy and I wasn’t going to let him travel alone. He needed me and I wanted to help. Much to his chagrin, he relented as I purchased a plane ticket from my phone. He grumbled all the way to the airport.

Our Uber stopped at a wrought-iron gate that spanned the length of a wide driveway entrance. As soon as we approached, a buzz sounded out and the gates opened. Our driver continued. My father’s excitement was palpable. He rarely spoke of his time in California so I was eager to hear tales from his friends.

Once the mansion came into view I realized how correct my father had been. The Remberts were not only wealthy, they were ultra rich. Their Neoclassical mansion was massive and opulent. Lush landscaping turned the area into a beautiful oasis. Money certainly wasn’t an issue for them.

We exited the car and grabbed our luggage. My father mentioned how the house hadn’t changed a bit and I could only imagine all the wild parties that had happened here decades ago. I glanced at the eaves, wondering if banners hung during ritzy events. I caught sight of a gazebo in the side yard and wondered how many millionaires had conversed there. I was noticing the beautiful wooden front door when I noticed something strange about it. It seemed . . . too thick. Too industrial.

Then it opened.

A man and a woman appeared on the portico. They were well-dressed and had an air of class about them. They greeted us with wide smiles.

“Thomas!” The man said to my father. “So glad to see you after all these years! We’ve missed that electric personality of yours!”

“And I’ve missed your hospitality. It’s great to see you.”

The man became somber. “We heard about Martha. She was a sweet woman. We offer our condolences.”

My father nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that. It’s been tough but I’m getting through it.”

“And who is your guest?” The woman asked.

“This is my daughter, Maggie.” My father put a hand on my shoulder. “Maggie, this is Preston and Shea Rembert. Our hosts for the night.”

The couple regarded one another, then Preston said, “Thomas, we didn’t know you were bringing a plus one.”

My father gave a half-hearted laugh, understanding the faux pas we’d made. “I’m a little less independent now. My health isn’t what it used to be since Martha died and Maggie insisted she accompany me. Will this be a problem?”

The couple looked at each other again, then granted us their big smiles.

“No problem at all, dear,” Shea answered. “There is one rule though.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

He held up a small wicker basket. “No cell phones at the dinner table.”

Wow. This really was going to be a posh setting. I looked inside the basket and found several other cell phones. My father and I added ours to the pile.

“We don’t want those pesky notifications ruining our conversation this evening,” Preston said and took the basket.

“Come in,” Shea offered. “Everyone else is at the dinner table. We have a lot to get to so let’s get started.”

The splendor of the home’s interior was unmatched from anything I’d seen before. The inside of the house was extraordinary: elegant marble flooring, exotic wood used as accents, pricey artwork on every wall, towering ceilings. It was extravagant and made me realize how their $25,000 attendance handout was nothing to them.

We turned the corner to find the dining hall. The place erupted in celebration. Everyone who was already seated at the table got to their feet to hug, kiss, and banter with my father, who in turn introduced me.

A woman in a designer midi dress hugged me then kissed my cheek. Her styled gray hair poked my forehead.

“I’m Wendy. It’s a pleasure to meet such a beautiful, young lady,” she said, then snickered after she added, “You certainly didn’t get your father’s looks.”

A pair of men took turns shaking my hand. They were both in Armani suits and had slicked back salt-and-pepper hair.

“I’m Antonee,” the taller of the two said. “And this is my husband, Brenden.”

“Nice to meet your acquaintances,” I said.

“The pleasure is ours,” Brenden said, then he kissed the top of my hand.

A man donned in a three-piece suit approached me next. His white mustache wiggled as he spoke.

“I’m Lennox.” He hooked my arm in his and led me to the table. Everyone else followed, including my father who hadn’t stopped smiling since his friends’ greeting.

“You can sit by me, dear,” Lennox said. “That way I can tell you all the trouble your old man got into when he was young.”

My father rolled his eyes and laughed. “Oh no. Don’t listen to him, Maggie. He’s a kook.”

Everyone was jovial as they found their seats, just in time for the hosts to take their seats. Preston was at the head of the table and Shea was beside him. The table setting was reminiscent of a Michelin-starred restaurant. Luxury tableware sat in front of each guest. Crystal glasses sparkled from an overhead chandelier. Two windows flooded the area with natural light, which was supplemented by wall sconces. Everything was so lavish.

The opposite side of the room was grand as well. Blocks of granite stone formed a vast fireplace. However, there was no fire. The pit was charred from use long ago, but with modern heating systems it made sense the fireplace was mostly cosmetic now. Still, it gave a sense of friendly warmth to the area.

Wendy held up a glass. “Do tell one of your servers to hurry with the wine. My tongue is dry.”

“I doubt that,” Lennox quipped, gaining a laugh from everyone except the hosts.

Antonee pointed to my father. “No alcohol for ole’ Thomas. We know how wild he can get once a buzz settles in his gut.”

My father blushed but came back with a retort. “And how many times did I catch you and Brenden making out after a few cocktails?”

Brenden laughed and put a hand on his husband’s thigh. “Don’t put any ideas into our heads or this party might turn nostalgic.”

Everyone laughed again. Except the hosts.

Preston Rembert stood up and the conversation stopped. It was clear that something serious was on his mind. His demeanor was in stark contrast to the high spirits of his guests.

“My dear friends, Shea and I have invited you here for a very special occasion. The most consequential occasion of your lives. And of ours.”

I looked at my father and his smile was radiant.

Preston continued. “Our friendship with each of you has impacted our lives in many ways. Most positive.” He looked down at the table. “Some negative.”

Shea looked at her smartwatch. She held up two fingers to her husband.

How odd.

“Your memories of this occasion may have been lost with time, but today marks the twentieth anniversary of the disappearance of our dear Madeline when she was only two years old. Your sympathy and assistance during that first year helped Shea and I keep our sanity. We would like to say thank you.”

Shea held up one finger to her husband . . . like some kind of countdown.

“However, since that time the police have never found our child. The night of her disappearance we hosted a party, in which all of you attended. The police say she walked out of our home during the party and fell into the river located behind our backyard. All evidence pointed to the river as th…

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