A Fall Meal

The pot was boiling over, but right now, that was the least of her concerns.

Her chest stilled. A chill traveled up her spine. The light above her head flickered, and the sound of crickets outside died out.

She couldn't bring herself to move; her eyes frozen on the man in front of her.

He was in her kitchen.

The Reaper, as the recent newspaper had called him.

He was in her house. In her kitchen. Right in front of her.

A small breath escaped her as the glint of something shiny caught her eye.

Her gaze shifted from a pale mask down to a long, silver knife. She could almost hear the dripping of the crimson liquid that coated it. How many lives had it taken? How many more would it steal?

"I thought I said no more blood in the house," she finally spoke, a snapping tone in her voice.

He didn't respond, but disappeared behind a wall while she turned to tend to the overfilling pot.

"And stop sneaking up on me," she called out, her back facing where he had been standing moments ago.

The loud sound of something heavy being dropped caused her to twist around.

A large, black bag now lay at her feet. The Reaper stood above it, watching ruby blood leak out a tear in the side of the material.

She smiled a wicked grin and grabbed the blade from his hand.

"Dinner's almost ready. Help me carve the meat, darling."