Terror Night

woman in black spaghetti strap top wearing eyeglasses
Jakob Owens at Unsplash

“Who are you and where did you get this number?” Nina challenged.

“They call me the Reaper,” the deep-breathing man said malevalently.

“Well you don’t scare me,” Nina said without the slightest hint of alarm.

“And why is that? Surely you know my reputation, and whether you believe it or not, I am right outside your door.”

“So?” Nina queried.

“So – you are my next plaything,” the Reaper snarled.

“I don’t think so,” Nina countered bravely just before the phoneline went dead.

Suddenly the backdoor of her house burst open and a black-clad man in a ski-mask stood before her brandishing a machete.

“So are still confident?” the Reaper sneared.

“Yes, most definitely,” Nina said with out the least hint of distress.

Confused, the Reaper ran his thumb along the blade and said, “We’ll just have to see about that.”

“Yes we will,” Nina said defiantly.

“What?” the assailant said with dismay.

“Yes, we will see,” she retorted. “Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?” the Reaper asked even more confused.

“Didn’t they tell you that I signed a three film contract?”


Padre

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