She stepped from the shower, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her midsection, her mind still racing with all the groceries she had forgotten to buy. She cursed herself for ever agreeing to host this ridiculous dinner party.
Bonnie reached for the sink but froze. Something demanded her attention – a quiet, rhythmic squeaking coming from the foggy bathroom window.
She wiped away the condensation. Outside… a jagged black fingernail, a long bony finger, grey wrinkled skin.
Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened, her breath halted as the finger traced her own initials on the icy windowpane.
Over and over again…
The Weekday One Hundred 