Aunt Betsy and Hyacinth returned to the Mortal Masquerade the following Saturday evening. I wore the same costume I had previously, but Betsy had traded her trousers and twin-set for a floral summer dress in light, floaty fabric. Debs had a whole rack of outfits planned for her alter-ego chosen around Betsy's smart lavender church theme. She'd offered me a costume change too, but I was comfortable in what I had on and liked the idea of Hynacinth being conservative and unchanging, to contrast with Betsy's aggressive up-dressing. As we arrived at the front desk, we were each given name badges; Betsy's was triangular, while mine was a circle.

"They show how many people we've beaten," explained Debs. "Mine is a triangle because Betsy defeated three other players in the hammer game, including the angel. You defeated one other player, so your badge is a circle."

"It seems I have some catching up to do," I said, as Hyacinth.

"It would appear so," replied Aunt Betsy.

As we approached the sign up board, a figure stood beside it waiting for us, arms crossed. He wore a black spandex mask over his entire head, with a black vest and combat trousers tucked into lace up boots. He fixed me with a stare through his sheer, black hood.

"Who is this gentleman?" asked Betsy. "He seems to know you."

"I believe this must be the Executioner from Parts Unknown," I exclaimed in Hyacinth's voice. The man nodded an acknowledgement. "I suppose I am being asked to choose the manner of my execution?"

He nodded once more.

I examined the board, looking across the grisly named games on offer until I settled on a four player block headed "Wheel of Drills". I took up the pen and wrote "Ms. Hyacinth" in flowery cursive in one of the spaces. The masked man took the pen from me and wrote, verbatim, "THE EXECUTIONER FROM PARTS UNKNOWN" in imposing block capitals. I held in a laugh and nodded sternly.

While the Executioner and I were exchanging glances, Betsy took up the discarded pen and began perusing the board herself. She found the name Isobel already written under the ominous heading "Feed the Worms" and entered her own in the adjacent slot.

"Here's a chance I can't pass up," she said. "An opportunity to send a witch into the pit."

We had watched Isobel compete at the last Masquerade, after we had survived our own games. She had a dark, magical avatar in flowing purple velvet, glittery eye mask and golden curls that gave her away as being played by Hannah from the Morior office. Isobel had looked strong in victory in what looked like a competitive match, sending three other players to be dispatched down a slide into a raging furnace, smiling calmly the whole time. Betsy wanted to progress, but she also wanted competition. I couldn't imagine either Isobel or Betsy sacrificing themselves for the other, so this would be a proper contest. Involving a pit and some worms, apparently.

First, though, Hyacinth had business with the Executioner from Parts Unknown, a guy looking like a techno DJ in shiny blue pvc clubwear and mirrored ski mask and a female angel. We were all strapped into chairs placed around a central spinning wheel with a pole sticking out in one direction, with a spinning drill bit on the end. Each player had to give a number from one to five, indicated by all players holding up fingers simultaneously. Then the wheel would be rotated the number of positions equal to the total of all the players' numbers. When the wheel stopped, the drill pole would thrust forward, into the torso of the player in that position. The game would then be repeated until only one player remained undrilled. It was a game of luck, bluff and mental maths.

The first round was pretty much a crap shoot, there's no way you could watch or psyche out three other players at once while making calculations, it occured to me too late that I had nullified Len's willingness to lose by picking a game with so much luck involved, but that was the spirit and thrill of the Mortal Masquerade. As it turned out, the drill came to a halt in front of techno boy, who was promptly impaled in a shower of stage blood as the drill twisted forward into him. Stage hands unstrapped him and removed his lifeless body from the room, he was followed by the angel in the next round leaving it down to Hyacinth and the Executioner.

Despite knowing (or at least believing) that he intended to lose, it looked like the Executioner actually meant business. We stared at each other across the divide, darting glances to the position of the drill pole while working out in our heads what the total number we wanted was, and the number our opponent would be most likely to play. The whole arrangement was designed to induce panic and mental exhaustion, the feeling as the drill pole swung into position in front of my body was terrifying, the relief as it continued on its way genuine. Even knowing it wasn't real (I theorised that the spinning drill bit was designed to retract into the pole, which also piped blood to add to and obscure the illusion), I was anticipating the drill boring into my body, smashing my ribs, shredding my vital organs.

We both successfully kept safe for three rounds, so another drill pole was added to the central wheel. When we still both found the safe spots, one more pole was added so there was now only one safe side - one of us would definitely be drilled on the next round. As I looked across at the Executioner, I saw him quickly flash his hand open and shut his hand down by his side, giving a glimpse of three fingers. To get the safe spot from three I would have to add either one or five, if indeed he wasn't planning to double cross me after all. What the hell, I thought, if I lose I lose. I held up five fingers and didn't even look at my opponent. I wanted to experience the tension of playing the game.

The wheel span round in front of me, each of the drill bits glinting in the light as they pointed towards my body, one of them dripping with blood. I kept up Hyacinth's stern composure, but my heart was pounding as the wheel slowly counted out the eight rotations called for.

Click... click... click...
Five... six... seven...
Click.

Before me was the empty space.

All three of the drill poles began to rotate and advance, including the one in front of the Executioner. He struggled in terror as the drill moved in, screaming and convulsing as it penetrated him, soaking him with blood. After what felt like a terrible eternity, the drill stopped and he drooped his head, deceased. The stagehands unstrapped us both and took the ex-Executioner away, two of them dragging his non-moving body along by the shoulders. Good on you, Len.

Aunt Betsy's showdown with Isobel took place over a central pit, with both players facing each other on chairs at opposite sides. Isobel looked dark and serene in a beautifully crafted dress in dark purple velvet, her fingernails and lips painted black and her dark glittery mask moulded with elegant curves. I noticed that her badge was octagonal, meaning she'd seen off eight other challengers under this avatar. Betsy smiled back malevolently, never breaking eye contact, attempting to psyche out her opponent. Inside the pit between them was a writhing mass of realistic looking worms, which in the mouldy green lighting looked absolutely disgusting.

"Flesh eating worms of the genus Somnum Exterreri," said Uncle Morbid, acting as Master of Ceremonies. A stagehand brought him a cut of meat tied to a piece of string, which he crouched down to lower into the seething pit. When he pulled it back out, only bones remained. "This is what awaits the loser of tonight's contest, between two fiercely competitive spirits. Only one can survive. Let's begin!"

Both players' chairs were fitted to conveyor belts which began moving slowly towards the edge of the pit. Uncle Morbid asked a series of questions to each player in turn; if they answered correctly, they could choose between speeding up their opponent's belt or slowing their own, if they failed to supply a correct answer their belt would move faster. Whoever reached the edge of the pit first would be tipped into the mass of worms - fake or not, I did not envy them that fate.

Both players successfully answered the first rounds of questions and chose to speed up the belts, before Isobel chose to slow her belt leaving Betsy pulling slightly ahead. Betsy passed on her next question, putting her in even more danger - but she never stopped staring at Isobel, challenging her all the way. She was forced to slow her belt on the next round, but managed to force an error from Isobel which then put them at even speeds, even though Betsy was now closer to defeat.
Another incorrect answer from Isobel caused her to catch up, with both women now within a metre of disaster. Betsy refused to let up her defiant stare, while Isobel was glancing down nervously at the worms. As if to tease false hope, Betsy made what had to be a deliberate error. Finally she allowed herself a glance down at the writhing bath beneath, then slowly looked up to her opponent, smiled, and licked her lips theatrically. It had the desired effect as Isobel fell over her words on the next question, speeding up the belt before Betsy sealed her fate by immediately answering the next question asked of her. Before Isobel had a chance to respond, the chair reached the end of the belt and tipped forward.

Isobel pitched forward into the pit, twisting around frantically as she sank out of sight with the worms crawling all about her. It looked terrifying, I found myself imagining the worms crawling about her body, entering every orifice, eating her alive. After about a minute, a bony hand broke the surface, followed by a skull and full skeleton.

Betsy stood up from the chair, brushed herself down and made her way back down to join me.

"I believe that draws us level," she said.

"Are we in competition?" I asked.

"My dear Hyacinth," said Betsy, "Of course we are. Competition is life in its purest form."