Waiting for the Demons
The old lady paced the floor of her withered cottage, mumbling to herself. After a few minutes, she walked slowly to the window. Pulling the shades up with a quivering hand, she peered outside. Small shadowed figures could be seen from a distance, heading towards the path that led to her front porch. The old lady gave a startled cry, shaking her gray head back and forth. The doorbell rang and she clutched the orange bag to her chest. Gulping, she stood up and bravely opened the wooden door. “Why do you come every year to scare me!”
