I’d seen the news. It’s all over Facebook, Twitter, you name it. There’s a killer out there. The twelve days killer, they call him. He sends the item through the post. If you get it. He gets you.
Soon as I opened the package and saw the turtle doves, I locked the door and called the police.
The relief when the doorbell rings and through the peephole I see the uniform is overwhelming.
“Don’t worry ma’am. You don’t need to be afraid anymore. It’s time.”
Time for what? I wonder. He draws the knife. I don’t need to wonder anymore.
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Glow by Stephanie Shaw"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Disgruntled by Jonathan Tolstedt"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Fade to Grey by Kristin Lennox"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="In the Beginning by E.M. Eastick"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>