Red and blue lights danced around the house, bouncing off the windows and overgrown lawn. I stepped out of the police car, the souls of my Romeos squishing into the wet ground. The sun had set hours before, but I found where he had hidden one of the bodies. It's been months and I'd searched everywhere I could think of, but I finally found one. We couldn't charge him with the murder without the bodies and he knew it. He mocked us the entire time telling us just too little to convict him. But he made a mistake, he let it slip.

As I walked toward the house, brushing past other officers, I stepped on the concrete steps and opened the worn-out door. The paint was peeling off, and the handle was chipped and scratched beyond repair. As I opened up the door, the darkness of the unlit house sent shivers down my spine. The only way I could see was by the police lights outside. I tried the light switch by the door but it didn't work, of course. I pulled my heavy flashlight out of my utility belt and turned it on. His house was a mess like always, half-eaten TV dinners and Chinese takeout scattered across the ground. Month old clothes laying on the floor draped over lamps and various other objects. Cockroaches, ants, and flies were everywhere you looked. The floors, walls, and even the ceilings were covered in ominous stains. Then there was the smell, as soon as I opened the door it hit me. It smelled like rot, a kind of rot that makes your stomach churn and twist inside itself.

I held my breath as long as I could while I stepped over piles of moldy food, empty beer bottles, and dirty laundry. As I neared the end of the entryway, I saw him just sitting there on his couch staring at the wall. With that disgusting, yellowed smile stretched over his face. I stepped through the entryway's threshold, and he didn't move not one inch. He continued to stare at the wall.

His smile twitched, for a second as I neared closer to him. I stood in front of him standing between him and the wall.

"Why don't you have a seat next to me?" He asked his expression unchanging, as he patted the cushion next to him. The couch looked wet, but dry at the same time there was not a chance that I was going to sit on it.

"Your loss, it's really comfortable," He stated, his greasy red hair shifting as he shrugged his shoulders.

"You know those mice did quick work for her," He said, moving his head to get a better view of the wall.

"Enough with your games, Peter! Where's your wife?" I shouted.

He smiled, a small smile, "My wife is behind you, in the wall Detective. You've already found her and I'm so glad you did. I've been terribly worried."

I turned and looked, shining my flashlight on the wall knowing full well what was going to be there. A young woman's half-eaten body lay in a crumbling wall. It was the body we had already found Peter's first wife, Angelica. Her body was wrapped in plastic sheeting, preserving her. The plastic didn't stop the mice, they had eaten the bottom half of her face and most of her body, leaving bits of her behind. Clumps of her auburn hair were sporadically placed on her head. But the worst part was her eyes, they had left her eyes and they just stared into my soul permeating my whole being.

"Peter Neeper had a wife and he could not keep her. He put her in the wall and let the mice eat her all," Peter said, smiling at my terror.

I turned back looking at him, "Was that a confession, Peter?" I asked knowing full well he would squirm his way out of it.

"No, Detective, I loved my wife. I would never kill her. I just wrote that little poem to keep our minds off of the terrible events that have unfolded," He said, his voice calm and collective, giving a sly smile after he had finished his speech.

"I didn't know you were a poet?" I asked, mocking him.

"Well, with my recent bout of misfortune I had to take my mind off it somehow," He said with the same sly smile.

"Right, now do you have any idea where your other wife, Sarah, is?"

"Could I interest you in some homemade pumpkin pie?" He asked, not interested in answering the question. He pointed down to a slightly disgusting-looking pumpkin pie. "You know I've been using this new type of fertilizer for my pumpkins. It makes them grow so much bigger than before and leaves them with such an interesting taste," He said, taking a piece of the pumpkin pie with his bare hands and shoving it in his mouth.

"Oh really, I'm just gonna take a look at this pumpkin patch that you have. If that's alright with you, of course?"

"Yes, yes of course, but don't disturb them, they're very precious to me. They are just over there in the backyard, let me show you," He says, his voice calm but there's no smile.

We walked over to a sliding glass door, it was covered in dirty fingerprints and smudges. Peter slid the door open and we both walked out into the cold night air. I followed him to the back of the house, other police officers were already there picking through the yard, looking for anything that could lead to where Sarah might be. A group of them were looking at the pumpkin patch, the medical examiner crouched over it.

"See anything interesting, Doc?" I asked.

"The dirt in the center of this pumpkin patch is concaved and a lot looser and softer than the surrounding area, all obvious signs of a buried body. She's here, Detective." The medical examiner said, picking a pinch of the loose dirt with his forefinger and thumb and letting it drop as he talked.

"You three," I shouted pointing to three of the nearby officers. "Grab some shovels, she's here." The three officers ran down to the cars and grabbed five or so shovels. Handing one to me and one to another officer.

We all began digging up Peter's precious pumpkin patch. Lifting huge dingy-orange pumpkins and throwing them to the ground. Digging into the loose dirt, and tossing it to the side.

"Peter, Peter pumpkin eater had a wife but couldn't keep her. He put her in a pumpkin shell and there he kept her very well." Peter said face contorted in a scowl at the sight of his pumpkin patch being destroyed.

"Another one of your poems Peter?" I say snickering to myself. He was silent, we stopped shoveling. All five of us policemen stared down into the hole.

There she was, shoved into the ground partly decomposed. But there was something awful about her, the roots of the pumpkins had traveled inside of her. They weaved throughout all of her body going in and out of her. Her blonde hair was a complete tangled mess of large thick roots.

I turned and looked at Peter. His face was as white as a ghost. He knew he had lost the game. I grabbed him by the arm, putting his hands next to each other. I snapped the cuffs on him with a satisfying Cuh-cuh-cliink.

"Peter Neeper you are under arrest for the murder of Sarah and Angelica Neeper. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future."

I lead him to my car triumphantly. I shoved him in the car locking the door. We both drive off toward the precinct.

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Six years later

Peter sat in the visitor's room sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair, hands cuffed to the concrete table. A single light was dangling above him.

Bzzz

The cell's door opened and a guard stepped in, leading a plain-looking woman inside. She looked bashful to be seen by him, her face red. The guard stood in the corner watching their interaction. She sat on the opposite end of the table her hands placed on top of his, a gold ring on her ring finger.

"I heard you passed your GED." She said a shy smile on her face.

"Yes, I did," He said emotionless. "Do you wanna hear a poem I wrote just for you?" he asked.

"Yes, honey I always love your poems."

"Peter, Peter Pumpkin eater had another and didn't love her. Peter learned to read and spell and then he loved her very well."