Toast Night · murder mystery parties
Pick a story, then start the party. Host from one phone and let every player follow their private character on their own device.
Joining a party
The host’s screen has six digits.
Murder Mystery packs
The Final Pour is free to play. Other stories unlock with native PayPal.
Six glasses on a hotel roof. One last toast. Someone at the table already knows this night will not end as planned.
Opening night. The gallery goes warm, the velvet stays shut, and one guest is smiling at a secret the room has not been told.
The bar is closed. The books are open. Someone stayed after last call, and the night does not add up.
A storm pins supper under glass. The doors will not open, and someone at the table is counting on that.
Eight people. One locked cellar. A bottle that was never supposed to be opened tonight.
Candles down a wedding table. A speech is waiting. So is someone who would rather it never be given.
The boss has gone. The holiday party has not. In the break room, one smile is covering a plan.
The dice are still on the table. The marathon was supposed to be a game. One player has stopped pretending.
First seating. The ship is already at sea. A welcome is being poured, and one chair at the table is a lie.
String lights. A cooler. Tourist night. Someone brought more than a dish to the cookout.
Friendsgiving in a locked farmhouse. The recipe is famous. The grudge at the table is older.
The diner sign is the only light left in the ice storm. The last shift should have ended. Someone made sure it did not.
One more song. The bar wants to close. Someone in the room is not finished, and the microphone is still on.
An overnight train. A glacier car. Between stations the corridor goes dark, and not everyone is in their berth.
The cameras are still rolling. Mirror night was built for confession. One of them is performing something else.
A door that is not on the street. Jazz under the floor. The toast goes around, and one glass was never meant to return.
The bonus toast is raised. The smiles are corporate. One of them already knows the night will not stay polite.
A nor'easter seals the inn. Upstairs, a room will not open. Downstairs, six people are deciding what they will admit.
Halloween, 1927. A speakeasy dressed in gold. The toast is called, and the room will not be the same when the music returns.
A friends' dinner. Phones face-down. One thread is still live, and someone at the table is afraid of what it says.
Closing night. The curtain falls. Backstage, a box that was supposed to stay shut is no longer where it was left.
The night before the wedding. The tide is out. Someone at the welcome table did not come to celebrate.
The road is gone. The lodge is full. By morning the snow will have covered more than footprints.
A county fair and a castle cake tall enough to need a ceremony. The ribbon never quite happens.
Dog-wash day on a sunny lane. The last rinse was supposed to be the gentle one.
Puzzle night at the library, and the room cannot stay quiet. The announcement never finishes.
Thursday bingo under fluorescent lights, and one chair that was supposed to stay lucky.
A birthday in a party barn, singing only. The last song was supposed to be the easy one.
A sunny chili cook-off, three final cups, and a photo that was supposed to be a joke.
A neon rink, lit for a birthday. The bow at the end never happens.
A sunny luncheon, and a Best Bloom ribbon that does not get pinned.
A grown-up trivia night in a rented gym. The last round was supposed to be the easy one.
A bright birthday at a putt-putt palace. One last ride was supposed to end in applause.
A homemade costume stroll, and a prize that was about to be named.
A sunny park picnic. The games were about to start.
A bright reunion in a sunny field. The afternoon was not supposed to end early.
A talent tent in the park. The last bow never quite lands.
The sunniest yard sale on the block. The morning's little joke never gets its punchline.
A very sincere Tuesday banquet. The courtesy bow was supposed to be the funny part.
A block party and a speech that never starts.
For hosts
Host Pass opens a 10-person table for the month. Stories you buy stay yours.
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Original fiction. Adult party game.