The house gave him the creeps. Even in broad daylight, dark clouds loomed.
He moved quickly down the stone walkway towards the three-story Tudor. The less time he spent on property, the better.
He placed the package gently on the front porch. Whatever was in that cardboard box must have been important. It was his only delivery of the morning, expedited by the District Manager himself.
But before he could disappear back to his company truck, the front door flew open.
An apparition. The spirit of an elderly woman in a nightgown floating in the open doorway.
“Finally,” she groaned.
The Weekday One Hundred 