In the main hall’s kitchen, Kitty bled the water faucet. Other than the expected bumps and bruises and a case of poison ivy, camp had gone smoothly. Nothing like last year. One final check, to perform. With the cabins locked tight, she could return the keys.
She didn’t hear the screen door bang, because a gloved hand guided it, closing it softly. She didn’t see the knife slash, because a stealthy attacker wielded it, striking quickly.
Afternoon sunlight danced through the skylight, and she realized she had ignored the warning signs. The faucet sputtered and hissed, leaving the line dry.
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Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer