Haunting House

Cute, curvy single mom Wendy asked: “Man my haunted house for the kids? We’ll have fun.”

Bachelor Ben pitched right in, helping decorate and place props. Wendy, meticulous planner, tireless designer, arranged it all: thunder, lightning, giant spiders, open coffins, creaking doors, bloody piles of entrails, bones, eerie echoes. Halting slobbering zombie Ben stumbled after the kids down a narrowing, wobbly hallway. The screaming kids fled terrified, tearful, trembling as chortling, maniacal, sadistic laughter boomed over them.

Afterwards. “Wasn’t that your voice, Wendy? Scary—and very believable.”

“Yep. I hate the little bastards. Go for a drink?”

“Don’t think so.”