Alabaster Wight was in the kitchen that day, spreading out cobwebs and knocking the salt and pepper shakers across the expensive flooring. Being a professional home-wrecker was a delightful but tedious line of work. She had begun to hum a funeral dirge to herself when there was a knock at the back door.
Alabaster Wight stopped to stare at that door.
Again: Knock. Knock!
“Who’s there?” she called out. Her voice was as dead and monotonous as it was the day she had died.
“It’s me, Grumpy! Let me in Alabaster, or I’ll blow this house up with you inside!”
“Screw you,” Alabaster Wight shot back. “I’m already dead.”
There was a pause. “Oh! Well in that case–” there was a distinct click.
Alabaster cursed as the floor beneath her gave way, swallowed up in flames. She could have sworn that she had heard her nemesis shout: “Have fun down there!” When she found a way out of this mess, she swore that she would give the wizard who had summoned her severe whiplash. Or a tongue-lashing.
Alabaster Wight’s days as a professional home-wrecker were over, starting today.
To be continued!