Whispers of the Devil
“I’ve had somebody ding-dong-ditching me all morning, and I just thought…. Well, I don’t know what I thought. I’m so sorry!”
Helen, recovering quickly from the misunderstanding, waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry about it, honey. I just stopped over with some muffins,” she explains, holding out a basket covered with a pretty yellow cloth.
“That’s so kind of you,” I say. Normally, I’d just take the muffins and not bother fostering any social connections in this dump, but my loneliness and the hot dread I’d felt earlier urge me to ask, “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
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