A window shattered. She flipped off the switch, the last light in the house. Safety in darkness she told herself. Solid reasoning she told herself.
She crept into her bedroom closet, crouching among the neatly arranged shoes.
She heard floorboards creak. House settling, right?
But that was a lie. Someone was here.
Whoever was sending her those letters, the ones written in blood, was making good on their promise.
She had tossed the threats aside but now was paying the price.
She should’ve gone to the movies with her parents and her brother.
She should’ve done a bunch of things.
The Weekday One Hundred 