Unfortunately, it's not Felix on the other side of the door.
There's a rake-thin woman in a long black dress standing in the doorway. Even though her face is concealed by a red scarf wrapped around her head like a shawl, I can tell immediately that she's really old.
She's holding a basket filled to the brim with gleaming red apples. A gnarled hand reaches into the basket and strokes one of the apples, the fingers lazily tracing the plump crimson fruit. The old woman appears to be muttering something over and over again. It sounds like the word fated, or maybe hated.
Nope, not happening. It's too early for Halloween.
I start closing the door, ready to lock it and run upstairs, possibly even call 911.
Just before the door shuts, I hear a voice say my name.
"Ashling?"
She pushes the sc
