Crystal L. Kirkham
John jumped as an icy wind rushed in through the open door. He ran over, slammed it closed and turned the bolt to be sure it would stay that way before heading back to watch TV.
John whipped around. The door was open again. Snow billowed in, outlining a familiar shape.
“A-Annie?” He stammered the name of his recently deceased wife.
An icy grip took hold of his heart and squeezed.
“I told you that you’d never get away with murder,” she said as the ice of her deadly grip turned to the burning flames of his destination.