Ruthy dried her hands on the kitchen towel, before draping the cloth over the stove's handle. She pulled her medium length blond hair into a messy bun and sighed. Though she was exhausted, her two hours of cleaning had resulted in a satisfactorily clean house.
As she walked to the pantry to reward her hard work with a glass of chardonnay, she made a mental note to never invite guests over on a work night.
As Ruthy set down the bottle of wine, having just poured herself a glass, she felt an odd sensation behind her; a kind of chill settling on her right shoulder, like a really cold hand. She gasped, spinning on her heel, expecting to see someone behind her—her mind conjured visions of a masked murderer with a glinting silver knife.
But there was no one there.
Her eyes scanned the kitchen, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The dishes were neatly put away, the appliances in their proper place; just as she had left it a few moments before.
Weird. She thought to hers