Celeste sat on the couch alone on a dark and stormy night. She was watching a horror movie on TV, holding a pillow tight to her chest to hide behind when a particularly scary or gory part was shown.

A darkly clad man was lurking in the bushes, peering in the window behind her. His ski mask was getting wet and itchy. He was hoping she would have gone to bed already, but he couldn’t wait. He snuck around to the back door. It was unlocked, just like in the movies.

He grasped the quadruple-D maglite firmly in both hands. He could see the back of her head over the rim of the couch, silhouetted in the blue of the movie. He tiptoed close and reared back for a good swing.

The floor creaked under his foot, she ducked and screamed, nerves on end anyway, never looking his way. Lights flashed in the big window as a car pulled in the drive. He peed his pants.

She turned around and screamed, finally seeing him, and scrambled up, tripped over the pillow, smacked her head on the coffee table, and passed out.

He cursed.