Broken Night
She smiled and had all but dismissed the noise when it happened again.
Someone was in her house.
Emily didn't write horror novels, but the realm of horror and magical realism crossed over more than a lot of people in the industry let on, so she was somewhat aware of the tropes, aware enough at least to not shout out “who's there?” like some airhead soon-to-be victim. Instead, she picked up one of her kitchen knives and slowly, cautiously, made her way toward the front door.
What Emily Diamond saw at the door made her drop her knife, the weapon falling uselessly and soundlessly to the carpet below. Her eyes grew wide while she took a reflexive step backward, no longer thinking at all.
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