Author: Debadrito Poddar
I never did like going around to her place,
The pumpkins there stank all year round.
It has apparently been a tradition to keep them
She explained to all of us, while I sensed a strange gaze on her.
You ever feel that piercing, searing gaze
Of an otherworldly nature, tearing and ripping into you?
Underneath which lies barely constrained emotions?
Whose gaze it was I will perhaps never know.
House bursting to full, she disappeared from sight
Of course she was busy and had work as the hostess
I reasoned, as I fought the sinking feeling rising up in me
Some uproar began, and she disappeared from sight and mind
The next time we saw her,
Her head was crushed; beside her lay the blood stained pumpkin,
Ethereal the entire situation was, though strange though it may sound.
Knowing that the killer was among the guests made us all feel on edge
I again wondered whose penetrating stare I had been privy to.
Is the killer someone we know? I guess there is no way to know.
Life has a strange way of telling us answers though.
Either you can choose to let the whodunit slide or
Read the lines again, paying close attention to the first letter of every line.
– Debadrito Poddar
