Four festive murder mysteries for the table. A patriarch dead beneath the tree, twelve guests snowbound with a secret, a choirmaster knifed in the vestry, and Father Christmas poisoned in his own grotto. The roads are closed. The phone is dead. No one is coming. You will find the killer yourselves, before the mince pies go cold.
"The roads are closed, the line is dead, and someone wants you in their bed... of suspects."
Under the tree
Each tag is a complete evening for six to twelve players. These four are being wrapped now. Join the waitlist and we will tell you the moment each is ready to host.
Snow has closed the roads and the telephone is dead. One hour before midnight mass, the patriarch is found beneath the Christmas tree, a glass of brandy beside him. He had called a family meeting to change his will. Not everyone was pleased.
A reclusive millionaire invites twelve guests to celebrate "the most important acquisition of my life," telling each something different. By morning he is dead in a locked study, and the small wooden box from under the tree is gone. Several people know what was in it.
The Christmas concert has ended and the mulled wine is flowing. Then the choirmaster, a man who knew everyone's secrets, is found dead in the vestry. A single wound, the robes on their hooks, and the collection tin, fuller than it should have been, empty.
The store is locked for Christmas, only the skeleton staff inside. At seven in the morning, Father Christmas is found dead on his throne, the grotto till emptied. He had been watching everyone since October, and he wrote it all down.
A fog-bound mountain guesthouse, the depth of an Australian winter, and the very first Christmas in July. The owner who bet everything on the feast is found poisoned by the fire. One warm midwinter dinner, and a killer at the table.
Snow falls on a grand alpine lodge, the road down the mountain is closed, and the gluhwein is warm. The man who built the place is found dead in the snow, in a story everyone is a little too comfortable to question.
Why a Christmas night hits harder
The roads are closed and the phone is dead. No police until morning. The people you love most are the only suspects you have.
Wills, grudges, affairs, old debts. In these families, everyone had a motive. The game is working out who also had the opportunity.
Carols, brandy, firelight, and a body under the tree. The cosier the room, the sharper the betrayal when it lands.
Private dossiers on each phone, the story on your TV, the host in quiet control. Nobody reads from a script. You just play.
The invitation
The Christmas Files are a series of festive murder mystery party games for the dinner table. Each one drops your guests into a snowbound Christmas with a body in the next room: a patriarch dead under the tree at Ashworth Hall, twelve suspects locked in a Yorkshire manor, a choirmaster knifed in the vestry, Father Christmas poisoned in his grotto, and two Christmas in July cases set in an Australian winter. You and six to twelve friends take the parts, work the evidence and name the killer before the mince pies go cold.
There is nothing to print and no lines to learn. The story plays on your television, each guest carries a private dossier on their phone, and the host is guided through the whole evening. A night runs about two hours over dinner, which makes it a ready-made centrepiece for a family Christmas, a work party or a Christmas in July dinner. The files are being wrapped now, so join the waitlist and we will tell you the moment each one is ready to host.
A hosted festive dinner game where each guest plays a character snowed in at a Christmas gathering, and the table works out who the killer is before the night is over. Our Christmas Files are dramatised crime fiction set in grand snowbound houses, churches and grottos.
Most Christmas Files play with six to eight guests, and The Twelve Suspects of Christmas scales up to twelve. There is a case for anything from a small family dinner to a full festive table.
Yes. Yulefest and A Cold Christmas are set in the depth of an Australian winter and written for a Christmas in July party, with the cold, the fog and the firelight built into the case.
No. The story plays from your TV, each guest carries a private dossier on their phone, and the host is guided through the night. No script to learn, no acting required. It runs about two hours over dinner.
Coming this Christmas
The Christmas Files are being wrapped now. Join the waitlist and we will tell you the moment the first parcel is ready to host, in good time for your own snowbound evening.