She brushed her dripping white locks away from her face as she slid through the door and bolted it behind her, hands trembling the whole time.
“Ah, we’ve found him, we have,” she whispered. “At long last we’ll have our revenge.” A smile that didn’t reach her eyes rearranged the geography of her face, adding depth to her abundant wrinkles.
Her hands still shook as she removed her rain jacket and tried, twice, to hang it on the coat rack. There was no light, so she was the only one who knew, but the awareness of her fear only served to fuel the anger within her.
She strode down the hall to the kitchen and pulled a lighter from a drawer, lighting candles on the counter before turning to the stove.
Her hands were steadier as she lifted the teapot and brought it to the sink to fill it. She used a dish towel to dry herself some more and then sat at the counter and began to write on a notepad. Her eyes flicked up often, looking for a hint of steam rising from the teapot.
The lady rose and moved to the stove when she judged the time was right, lifting the pot from the heat in time to keep it from whistling and waking anyone else in the house. She prepared her tea and returned to the counter, making more notes.
A scratch came from the back door.
“Ah, kitty, they left you outside while I was gone, did they?” She stepped across the kitchen and dropped the chain, then unbolted the deadlock and the latch.
The door exploded inward, and a howl echoed through the room and the empty yard behind.
We’ve been found; it’s too late,” she thought, her eyes locked on the glowing orbs of her towering attacker. She never saw the claws that ripped out her throat.