Mr. Mcklenny meticulously placed the delicate glass lantern atop the decorated table, wiping his brow immediately afterwards. It was the final of the decorations to be set out, and now came the real challenge: the wait.

Being in the middle of the desert was a bit of a difficult area to attract others, however he learned from years of settling that it was the best way for him to put on his mask and keep his secret. He was kicked out of his hometown, after all.

He plopped down in his chair, throwing the tail of his tuxedo behind him, and took his top hat off to run his hands through his hair. When every grain of sand was removed from his chestnut curls, he put on a lazy smile as his eyes scanned the view. He was becoming ravenous, not having eaten in a little under a week.

It was a few hours that passed until Mr. Mcklenny saw someone. He plastered on the smile that slipped from his face in all his waiting and stood, waving his right hand in a wave.

“Thirsty?” he called out and stepped aside to motion behind him to all the drinks he had lined up. The person came closer into view and Mr. Mcklenny realized it was an entire group. He guessed his perception was off from the lack of food. His smile grew as the four people entered the tent, all looking incredously from the ice cold water back to Mr. Mcklenny.

“Go ahead, I don’t bite,” he laughed. The others smiled and took a glass each, one muttering a thank you from deep in his dry, scratchy throat.

“Not yet, at least,” there was now a much darker tone to his words. He was found against the wall of the tent, his hand hovering over a small black button.

With a click, the floor under the visitors disappeared. There were shrieks that were cut short by a large plop, silence suddenly thick in the air. Mr. Mcklenny came closer and peeked over the side of the hole, his eyes lighting up at the bloody view that met him.

“Dinner,” he growled and climbed down the long ladder, ready for his long awaited feast.