The frigid October air; where the hunter’s moon hung bright within the night sky. Unknowingly, five readers were curled up with a mystery by the queen of mystery herself, as they matched wits with the detectives internally challenging them to see who could solve it first. They the reader; or the detectives dreamt up by the author. As the dangerous thrill of solving the unsolvable thumped through their veins, how could they know that they were shortly to be called to participate in case worthy of Poirot’s ‘grey cells’. One that would challenge each of them; and, if they were real, would have vexed even the great Sherlock Holmes, the ‘grey cells’ of Hercule Poirot, and even the unflappable Miss Marple.
A day the same as all the ones before was shattered at the arrival of a mysterious letter. The only information to be gleamed from it was that it was expensive, thicker than first expected, and looks as if it had traveled the world for years and years. Tattered and softened with time the envelope bespoke adventures that have yet to happen. A call that increased from the moment it arrived.
Letter in hand, our first sleuth debated whether or not it would be wise to open the unknown. For it could be a cruel prank played by a dark hearted world. Or it could change everything; breaking up the mundane. As the days passed by, the draw of the letter called out like a siren. A siren that would not be silenced until it had been opened.
Continue reading if you opened the letter
With a silent prayer, she ripped open the letter…