The Masque of the Red Death

Every hour, in the last and blackest room, a great ebony clock strikes, and the whole masquerade stops dead: the orchestra falls silent and the waltzers freeze mid-turn, until the chimes die away and a light, embarrassed laughter returns. Outside the walls a plague called the Red Death has half emptied the country, and Prince Prospero has welded shut the gates of his abbey on a thousand chosen friends, leaving the the world to see to itself.