Your TV is the stage
The case opens on the biggest screen in the house. Scenes land, evidence appears, timings look after themselves. You press one button and the room goes quiet on its own.

Pick a case, gather your most opinionated friends, and hand them the evidence. Your television runs the night, every phone holds a private secret, and the host plays the victim, so you finally get to attend your own party.
Twenty-six cases. $29 each.
nobody reads aloud from a booklet.
nobody has to be an actor.
The case opens on the biggest screen in the house. Scenes land, evidence appears, timings look after themselves. You press one button and the room goes quiet on its own.
Each guest gets their own private brief. Their character, their motive, the one thing they must never admit, and the questions only they can ask. Nothing to print, nothing to hand out.
You are the body. It is the best seat in the house. No secret to keep, no plot to steer, just a glass of something and a front row view of your friends turning on each other.
Eight real historical murders, three seasons written for the nights people already gather, and two ways to play when it is just the two of you. Every one runs from the app.
The murders the world never agreed on, from 1876 to 1929. Real evidence, real suspects, and a verdict history never managed to settle. Reopened at your table.
Open the files →The one night of the year everybody already arrives in costume. Give the costumes a plot, and give the neighbours something to talk about until Christmas.
See the Halloween files →Snowed in, the family gathered, and somebody under the tree who will not be getting up.
See the Christmas files →Bletchley, occupied Paris, a grounded bomber crew. Six nights, and one traitor in each of them.
See the War files →No dinner party. Just the two of you, evidence arriving in five stages, and a theory board that keeps score.
Take the case →An evening in that is not dinner and a screen. Same case, same tension, one bottle of wine and no guest list.
Plan the night →twenty-six cases. one killer each.
none of them are yours to worry about.
Nobody schedules a murder for its own sake. They schedule Christmas, or a fortieth, or the last hen night before the wedding, and then wonder what on earth everyone is going to do after the food. This is the answer to that, and it fits the evening you had already planned.
Six cases for the one week of the year the whole family is trapped in a house together. Snowed in, the presents opened, and somebody under the tree who will not be getting up.
The night with the worst ratio of expectation to actual event. Give the room something to solve and midnight arrives before anyone has looked at the clock.
Half the room has never met the other half. Nothing introduces a bride's schoolfriends to her colleagues faster than an hour of accusing each other of murder.
Thirtieth, fortieth, fiftieth. The birthday guest of honour gets to be the victim, which is the only party trick that gets better the older you get.
Old kits hand you a photocopied crime, a stack of scripts, and an evening of admin. We hand you a real case, a room that runs itself, and a seat at your own table.
Every party case is built on history: the scene as it stood, the testimony as it was given, the questions the courts left open. Historical only, and no living families. Dramatised as fiction, treated with respect.
No ink cartridge crisis at seven in the evening. Roles go to phones, the case plays on the television, and the whole thing arrives the moment you buy it.
You do not need to read the solution in advance, learn a script, or keep anybody on schedule. Open it on the night and let it run.
Every case scales. Core characters carry the story, flexible characters fill the extra chairs, and nobody is left holding a card that does not matter.
The single best decision we made. You are the reason everyone is there, and you never have to leave the room to run the game. You attend your own party.
An AI companion sitting inside the case. Guests can question it, test a theory against it, or ask it to repeat what somebody said an hour ago. It is built to hold the solution back, and it is a companion rather than a dependency: every clue you need is delivered by the game itself.
Everything below comes with every case, at no extra cost, because a murder mystery that only hands you a plot leaves you to solve the actual problem: getting nine adults invited, dressed, seated and confident enough to open their mouths.
Send each guest their own private link. It tells them the date, who they are playing and what the evening is, and it takes their yes or no. You get a guest list that keeps itself, instead of a group chat you have to read twice.
Every character comes with one practical line on what to wear, written for a wardrobe rather than a costume shop, and every case has its own dress code for the era. It goes out with the invitation, so nobody arrives in jeans and apologises all evening.
Roles are not stuck to a gender. Hand any character to any guest and the dossier they read comes back to them with the name and the pronouns already changed, without touching the plot, the clues or who did it.
The television is the stage, but you drive it. Your own phone carries a private run sheet: what the room is about to see, what to say if it stalls, who is holding which secret, and a Next button. Nothing advances until you press it, so the night runs at the speed of your dinner.
When a case turns on antimony or hyoscine or a not proven verdict, the phone quietly explains the term to whoever is looking at it. Your guests get to sound like they know what they are talking about, which is most of the fun.
An AI companion sitting inside the case. Guests can question it, test a theory, or ask it what somebody said an hour ago. It is built to hold the solution back, and it is a companion rather than a crutch: every clue you actually need is delivered by the game itself.
Plus the printable pack, free with every case: a booklet for each guest and a host pack, for a night with no wifi and no phones at all.
See everything included






eight cases the world made its mind up about
a very long time ago.
We are not telling you who did it. That is the entire point. Your table gets the same evidence the inquest had, and your table has to decide. Open the eight Case Files →
Three questions decide it, and you almost certainly know the answer to all three already: how many are coming, what sort of evening it is, and whether your table wants a real unsolved murder or a very good story. Start wherever you are most certain.
Every case plays six to twelve, but they do not all feel the same at six as they do at twelve. Six is close and forensic. Twelve is loud and needs a firmer hand. Each guide says which cases suit that number and where the evening tends to sag.
A Christmas the whole family is at, a hen weekend, a work thing you have been made responsible for, or just a Saturday with the people you actually like. The occasion narrows it faster than anything else, because it decides the tone before it decides the case.
Eight of the twenty six are real historical murders, run on the actual evidence, and nobody in the room gets told who did it because history never settled it either. The other eighteen are original fiction written for a particular kind of night. Both play identically. They just land differently.
Four questions, three suggestions, about sixty seconds. No email address, no sign-up, and it will tell you plainly when two cases are close rather than pretending there is one right answer.
Also worth a look: how to host one · the printable pack · playing over a call · when something goes wrong
One payment, no subscription, and nothing arrives in the post. Your access code lands in your inbox the moment you pay.
Every case comes with the whole night on paper as well: a booklet for each guest and a host pack with the guide, the cue sheet and the solution.
One case, hosted from the app, for six to twelve at your table. Pick the night you are actually planning and buy that case on its own.
Cases are $29, bought one at a time. Full pricing and what is included: pricing.
A case makes an unreasonably good present, and not because it is cheap. It is a night they will still be arguing about at Easter, given to the friend who already has everything except plans. It works overseas, there is nothing to post, and the code never expires, so buy it in August and they can host it in June.
Straight answer: there is no gift card, and we would rather say so than sell you one.
No, and neither do your guests. Nobody performs a monologue. Each person gets a handful of things they know, one thing they are hiding, and a few questions to ask other people. The awkward ones usually turn out to be the best liars.
Both, and you do not have to decide in advance. Every character's phone gives them written lines for each act, which a nervous guest can simply read out word for word. The same brief also tells them who they are, what they want, what they are hiding and what they can ask other people, which is all a confident guest needs to just talk. In practice one table does both at once: two people read, the rest improvise, and it holds together either way.
Six to twelve, plus you. The host plays the victim, so you are not counted in the cast and you are not dealt a role. Extra friends can join as observers and heckle from the sofa.
Around two to three hours including dinner and the accusation. The two-player cases run closer to ninety minutes. You can pause, eat, and come back to it.
Nothing at all for the app cases. You need a television or laptop, and everybody needs their own phone. If you would rather work on paper, the print at home scripts exist for that.

Pick the case. Pick the date. Send the invitations and say nothing else. By the time the plates are cleared, two of your friends will not be speaking, and both of them will be wrong.
Instant delivery. Your access code arrives by email.