By the light of the setting sun, you cautiously make your way towards the farm house in the distance.

    Driving your rental slowly towards the farm house, an eerie sense of dread falls upon your shoulders. A shiver runs down your spine, then back up again, your heart pounding the bass-line of the garbled Greek song forcing itself out of the car stereo. You panic, and fumble for the lock, making sure that it isn't, well, unlocked.

    Success. The door is, in fact, locked, but you realize that your window is down. Cursing, your fingers shift to the switch to batten the hatches, the mechanism giving a low whir as the window raises itself.

    Again, you are victorious. The doors are locked, the windows are raised, your vehicle is impermeable. However, the shiver still rests atop your neck, straddling the vertebrae like a rodeo cowboy. You try to shake it off, but to no avail. The cool continues to permeate you, the panic sets in again.

    Forcing yourself to be rational, you force some calm into your mind, remembering the breathing techniques your hot yoga instructor told you. The thought brings a chuckle, as you see the double entendre you just made. As you do this, you see that you've left the air-con on, though you can't remember why you turned it on in the first place. Everyone knows that air-con is pretty much useless with the windows open. You turn it off, and the chill fades after a few moments. That wasn't too scary, was it?

    Finally you find yourself at the farm house, and not a moment too soon. The needle on your gas gauge lies flat, though you could probably run on fumes for a little while more. With a sigh, you unlock and open the door of the rental, and trudge up to the farmhouse, a solitary light illuminating a single window.

    Stepping up to the door, you tap softly on the door. Once, twice, thrice. Seconds pass. Impatience sets in. You repeat the action, this time louder. Once, twice, thri--- the door opens. This startles you, and, being startled, you reach for the object in your waistband.

    You whip your hand forward, ready to deal with the foe. You come face to face, though the back-light renders the man --woman?-- as a simple black profile. With bravery stitched across your own visage, you hold forward your...

    ...lip chap.

    Damn.

The End

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