Good evening, and welcome to Nighty Night with Robbie Achardry. Bedtime stories to keep you awake.

I'm DJ Little Bell, the shows producer. Tonight's tale is about a man who is willing to let his vanity become deadly. Please enjoy forever young.

The paramedics were not only too late, they were out of their depth. By the time they arrived, the blood had already sunk into the attic's floorboards. Pink insulation around the edges had thirstily inhaled the dark red liquid, the dying hearts had pumped in their direction.

And there in the center of the floor with the bodies. The Yuruga State had been silent when the ambulance has finally arrived. With the front doorway halfway open, the Amtees easily let themselves in, calling out for anyone who might be able to hear them. No one could, of course. The Yuruga State had never been so hollow and silent.

This mansion had at one point been full of life, hosting parties for only the best kinds of people, rich socialites, politicians, famous actors. Once the story of the murders broke, inevitably they'd all issue statements of shock, distancing themselves from that family and their secret parties.

Years ago, the Yuruga State's halls carried echoes of clinking glasses, voices yelling cheers, and music performed by only the most popular acts of the day. Upstairs behind its many closed doors, it was anyone's guess what went on. But that was half the fun. The rumors, scandals, urban legends, accusations appeared in thread after thread online.

Cellphones always had to be checked at the door, but inevitably photos and videos would continue to leak, allowing the regular world to catch brief glimpses of how great life really could be if only you had money.

The beautiful people always began the night looking camera ready, practically glowing in their dresses and suits, holding champagne glasses and smiling.

But the secret photos taken later in the dark hours of the night revealed wild bloodshot eyes, sweaty faces, and disheveled clothing, as unspoken vices took their toll on the beautiful people every night.

But then there was Narod, no bloodshot eyes, no bulging veins, not even a hair out of place.

Narod always looked like he had declined to take part in whatever wreaked such havoc on his guests.

The big rumor was that Narod hosted parties just to gather blackmail material over his wealthy friends.

An anonymous people online theorized maybe he always needs to be the one in control, the perfect host, or maybe he gets his rocks off watching beautiful people lose control.

There was a bit of truth to those theories, but there was also the fact that after years of the same party, week after week, the rush was gone.

Most importantly though, the reason Narod managed himself with complete self-discipline was this. He was getting older.

Some might think a 25-year-old wouldn't worry about aging, but he had noticed the slight sinking of his cheeks, the saloness that was robbing his fresh-faced look, the hairline that had moved imperceptibly,

but definitely further back on his forehead. His vanity would no longer allow him to be as reckless as he was in his younger days.

He meticulously guarded his health and looks now, knowing their time was running out.

Narod got his start as a child actor. A rare occupation afforded by a Europe family legacy of gaining power and money through murder and theft.

Grandfather Basil was the first of the Yergs to build a fortune during the prohibition days. At that time, Basil kept the repressed swimming in alcohol and cut his competition's throats.

Literally, some would say. All that money needed a place to hide though, and a major television production studio was just as good as anything else.

After all, the Yerk family's industry was always focused around entertainment one way or another.

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