I had to use Uncle Tom’s pocket handkerchief to wipe down my knife, which seemed rather tasteless, but the turkey was beginning to get cold, and my was it worth it.

Following my little outburst, my family didn’t exactly make scintillating dinner guests, but I wasn’t going to let that dampen the mood. I never was one for idle chit-chat – I’ve always believed a good meal speaks for itself.

After one bite of the succulent flesh I looked up to gauge my family’s reaction, but none of them seemed to be in the mood for critiquing the cuisine. I’m afraid that wasn’t good enough. I always like to know whether my guests are happy with their meals.

Always.

“Polly?” I asked, turning to my fiancée.

There was no reply.

“Polly? Answer me when I speak to you!”

It was then that I noticed the fog that seemed to have crept into her eyes, and the blood that was soaking the tablecloth.

I finished my meal in silence, and when the men in uniform finally arrived I was ready.

“Turkey, gentlemen?”