The party had been Claudia’s idea. She thought it would be nice to make some friends, get to know the neighborhood. Bill had obliged. He never actually knew how hard a party was to plan. There was the decorations, the food, the deserts, and the entertainment. He even didn't even know who to invite.
“Bill, do you think these balloons match the carpet?” Bill sighed and nodded. No doubt a woman would be afraid if the balloons didn't match. Bill meanwhile was throwing streamers in every direction, littering the ceiling with blasts of vibrant color.
People started pouring in at seven. Half the people Bill had never even recognized. He assumed they were Claudia’s. After about ten minutes of conversation he excused himself for a drink of punch.
Bill escaped into the more tranquil kitchen. The discussions echoed in the room, like a cave. He picked up the ladle and poured it into a red plastic cup. It was sweet, but also had a slight sting to it. He swished it around twice then swallowed.
“How’s your throat?” A raspy voice asked. Bill wondered if he heard the question right. He could not register that particular voice in his head.
“All my predictions come true, Eaton.” Bill whipped around. The voice was alien, but he recognized those hands. Those eerie, sinister hands. She continued.
“If only you had stayed in my sanctuary, it would not have to be this way. But when I foresee death I must obey. Do you feel the cyanide coursing through your veins? It does not matter. I would warn your guests about the punch, though. I hear it has a bit of a zip." The Gypsy cackled and Bill could see her toothless mouth. She then fled and disappeared into the crowd.
Now that Bill had been told, he could feel the poison. He massaged his throat reflexively, hoping the cyanide would magically evaporate. He couldn't see it, but Bill knew that the poison was lurking in the punch-bowl. How many people have had a glass? Five? Ten? Half the guests?
03-Jun-2009 01:28:28
- Last edited on
03-Jun-2009 22:19:52
by
Dark Enmity