Cathy Mills sat in front of the blaring television screen. It was driving her demented, just the same old cooking and home improvement shows. She looked out the window at the dark night sky. A streak of lighting illuminated the black sheet of nothingness. Yawning and rubbing her eyes, she turned back to the television and watched self-raising flour being beautifully sifted. After a few more minutes the old television set hummed and went out. Thin smoke arose from the socket. Cathy rolled her eyes.
"Stupid storm".
She trudged to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The putrid smell of sour milk and leftovers blasted her in the face. She gently closed the fridge door and looked around at her mouldy kitchen. She opened her fridge again just to make sure no food had magically appeared. Nope, nothing.
Bang, bang, bang.
Someone was at the door. "Who's here so late?", Cathy thought to herself.
Bang, bang, bang.
"I'm coming" , she yelled down the stuffy hallway.
Bang, bang, bang.
"I thought I told you I was coming!".
The minute she turned the handle of the door the wind forced it open with an almighty power. An old man was peering back at her. He was wearing an army uniform, holding his helmet down by his side. With another look, it appeared to Cathy that his leg was twisted the wrong way. Wrinkles and dried blood covered his skin.
"Can I help you?" Scowled Cathy.
The man didn't say anything, he just seemed to be looking right through her, down the hall, almost intrigued, even though nothing was there except a long-broken clock.
"It would appear that I have found myself in the presence of the wrong house...how tragic"
