The newlyweds stood in the foyer, grinning. They’d just put a down payment on a spacious, reasonably priced craftsman in a walkable suburb with excellent schools.
But then the lights flickered. Pieces of plaster crashed to the floor.
“Get out!” moaned a disembodied voice. The real estate agent froze. The wife stared at her husband.
“Hear that?” she asked. He shook his head.
“Good, me either,” she said.
“Die!” groaned the unnerving voice. The couple had seen and heard enough. In this market it was an easy decision. The wife smiled, turned to their agent.
“So… when do we close?”
The Weekday One Hundred 