Joan.

I turned to see Joan stand and look at her dinner guests apprehensively, myself included. Her thoughts were as clear as her eyes, what an extraordinary bunch of people, so different, and yet of the same blood. It's as if God, in a drunken stupor, suddenly hit upon the idea that all facets of the human mind shouldn't exist within one skull, but many. And after another swig of the nectar of THE God, had given each member of the Butler family a different mental attribute, making each one an individual in his misty eyes. Unfortunately, while they had one of a great many mental attributes, alot of others went missing. A Butler with commonsense hadn't yet been born, and Uncle George had been locked away last week after it had been found that he was gifted with insanity, and even now was trying to fit in.

Joan, the recipient of dignity and decorum, suddenly snapped from her reverie to find her eight living relatives staring at her, anxious to hear what she had to say. She clasped her hands in front of her and spoke calmly and clearly.

"I would like to welcome you tonight to the reading of Great Aunt Dorothy's will. We nine have been specifically asked to meet tonight by our insurance company - Krapps, Krapps and Cockthrift - because we are the only remaining descendants of Great Aunt Dorothy."

It seems that three weeks beforehand, my brother, also possessing Uncle George's gift, although in the form of schizophrenia, had not been taking his medicine. It was this, and his reading of "The Pied Piper", that was blamed for both his death and the death of the rest of the Butler family save we nine. Dear brother Andrew had been found, with the remains of the rest of the clan, at the bottom of a cliff dressed in a jester's costume and clutching a large tin whistle.

"I will be reading the will, but, I hasten to add, I would appreciate some maturity from you when hearing what you each receive..." Aunty Margaret, on hearing this, smiled wholeheartedly, for she herself had received the gift of maturity (she was a strange baby) "...for it is of no consequence what we get at such a tragic time. I ask you all to hold what you do receive dear, in the memory of Great Aunt Dorothy." With that she sat down and reached for her reading glasses on the table in front of her. The table we were all presently sitting at was huge. Uncle John, who was blessed with irresponsibility and lust had rumored that twelve people could lie flat on the table at once. We didn't know how he found out such information and we didn't want to know - except for how he managed to get past security to perform the feat; they don't let us out much and security is pretty tight.

Great Aunt Dorothy was dead, and I was sad on first hearing such news. It seems that she had been savagely attacked by her poodle after feeding it "Chow Cow" for the one hundred and seventy-sixth time in a row. The vet, who dabbled in such an absurd subject as animal psychology, said that the animal could have performed the task for two possible reasons. It was sick of "Chow Cow" and was looking for something a little more meaty (let's face it, Great Aunt Dorothy wasn't exactly petite), or it was a canine psychopath waiting for the correct moment to start a homicidal killing spree. Nevertheless, the animal was destroyed soon after by Uncle Hubert, a war veteran who decided that to efficiently destroy the animal a small sub-machine gun was required. As you might imagine, there wasn't much left of the dog to bury. Joan cleared her throat.

"To my dear daughter Joan I leave my house. That building has been part of me for twenty years, it was my heart, my soul and my mind - but now I'm dead so she can have it." Joan chuckled softly to herself, which sounded quite like the sound of ice being crushed with a plastic knife. Sort of grating yet watery.

"To my only son Bob, I leave my holiday home on the Gold Coast, may he get as much out of it as I did." Bob, my godfather, was the weirdest and funniest man I had ever met. I wanted to be just like him until he was arrested for running nude down the main street.

"To Hubert I leave a total sum of $200, 000 on the condition that not a cent is spent on ammunition or unlicensed weaponry." Uncle Hubert's face fell. The war-paint he applied this morning was suddenly cut by a tear that, restrained as he was, he could not wipe away. So it plopped down onto his combat overalls. I was left wondering why a weapon would ever require a license.

"To George I also leave $200, 000, as well as the contents of my library, may he never suffer Alzeimers." I thought this blessing strange, not because of what you might expect (I mean, who writes a blessing like that to someone?) but because Uncle George was already insane so it wouldn't make much difference if he had Alzeimers or not.

"To Janet, Joan's loving daughter..." both Joan and Janet smiled to each other "...I leave my Ferrari and my prize winning collection of goldfish, she used to love watching them swimming around in their tank of water." It was a fantastic collection too, Great Aunt Dorothy had some four hundred and twelve goldfish in a tank the size of a small swimming pool. Janet possessed the gifts of animal handling and organization so not only were the fish in capable hands but their meals would be on time each day.

"To Christine, Joan's other daughter..." poor Christine wasn't a family favorite, so Joan didn't even look up "...I leave all electrical appliances to be found in my house". Christine was what was termed as a "goth". She was still wearing black ten days after the funeral and the veil that she was wearing was a regular piece of attire. Actually, I don't think anyone had ever seen her face. Christine was given the gift of melancholy, and she handled it quite well under the circumstances.

"To Mark, Bob's son, I leave also a sum of $200, 000, as well as Danny, my sister's grandson. You two boys were the jewels in my crown, may your lives be long and happy." I looked at Mark, who had received the gift of indifference, and he looked at me. He shrugged, which I guess summed it up for both of us.

"And finally to Doctor Marvin, who now cares for them all at the hospital, I wish the best of luck. It seems that this is what happens when mental illness is hereditary. I thank you all for your time."

I twisted in my strait jacket and looked at Doctor Marvin. He was sitting like he always did with his index finger rested on his chin. Very intellectual looking. His part of the will, would turn out to be the most useful next to Joan's, because when you're locked up in a mental hospital, money and property aren't as important as when you're outside.

"Thankyou for that Joan, I'm afraid you'll have to leave now though, they're going to have to be put back in their cells for a while..", said Doctor Marvin. He stood to show Joan out. I didn't like my cell, and I'm sure that Bob, Hubert, Mark, Janet, Christine and George didn't either. No, sorry, I seem to recall Uncle George saying he enjoyed the padded walls.

I watched Joan disappear down the white corridor. She'd be back, after all, she was a Butler, and mental illness is hereditary.