There it was again: that unmistakable creak in the floorboards. Friends had warned Sammi not to buy the rickety house because she owned a dog.
“You’ll constantly think there’s an intruder whenever Duke prowls,” they had said. But Sammi didn’t care — she had nerves of steel.
Tonight was different. It was Halloween — an evening of fright. The sound of footsteps neared. Duke was with her on the bed. Someone was inside the house, inching closer.
Sammi opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out the dusty revolver. The unloaded weapon was useless without bullets, yet the gun was ready to warn, not kill. Sammi secretly hoped she wouldn’t regret never having armed it.
Through the darkness, she sensed the intruder standing in the doorway. She heard Duke’s low growl before he lunged.
Sammi flicked on the lamp to see Duke standing beside her scowling, estranged mother.
Darn, that witch had returned.
