“I’m not superstitious,” Betty said.
When she was a child, her great-grandmother used to say that that world of the living and the dead drew together as Halloween approached. She never believed it.
There was another loud “thump” followed by the strange voice.
And Friday the 13th? Just the start to another autumn weekend.
Greg should have been home long ago. Where was he?
A blood curdling scream came from the garage as Greg pulled in. Then silence.
After a minute, she braved the garage.
“Look what I caught,” Greg said, holding a feathered object. “A myna bird.”
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Word count = 100