Fashion Victim

Christian knocked on the door of the cottage. An outside light came on. Shuffling footsteps. The door slowly creaked open. A wizened old crone stood there.

“Yes?” asked the crone.

“I’m terrible sorry to bother you, my dear, but my car broke down and I can’t get a signal. I don’t suppose you have a landline phone I could use, do you?”

The crone smiled, “Why yes. Come in. I’m Cate.”

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