Though the dark loomed over the lonely city laneway, Cassandra felt no fear. Her brooding presence emanated evil. Finally steps clicked closer and closer. A man appeared, his face illuminated as he lit his cigar. He never saw the knife Cassandra wielded.
Sepulchers weren’t Dave’s favorite rendezvous. Linda promised to meet him in this supposed hallowed place. The fluttering of owl wings and its prey’s cry echoed around him. He lit some vanilla scented candles, ‘Girls love stuff like this.’ Unfortunately, the flames caught the gossamer webs afire, and Dave left screaming.