Alice saw the cloaked figure advancing.
“Run!” she screamed to her tipsy co-workers.
Barry lurched from the broken-down minivan; eyes fixated on the old Victorian in the distance. He staggered forward.
Halfway there, his foot found a crack in the cement path. A blinding flash later, he was a smoldering pile of ash.
Cassandra was next. She drunkenly followed in her co-worker’s steps, only to suffer the same fate. Two piles of smoking ash now sat side-by-side.
Alice’s choice: confront this looming menace or brave the sidewalk of death.
Either way, she vowed this would be her last company outing.
The Weekday One Hundred 