Tales from the Yeller House: A Horror Collection

Same Death, Different Day

"Today must be your lucky day," the cashier-Cody, according to his nametag- said without emotion. He was too busy checking out the blonde's curves on full display in her Catwoman costume to really care about much else.

Rosalyn grimaced. "Something like that."

If her statement affected the young man, he didn't show it. He scanned her lottery ticket, then counted out five Benjamins into Rosalyn's palm and told her to have a good day.

Without another word, Rosalyn left the Shell station. Cody watched as she climbed into her white Porsche (a step up from yesterday's car, if you asked her) and turned onto the street.

He was still watching when an eighteen wheeler's brakes failed and slammed into the driver's side of the Carrera. He stared for a minute (or was it ten? In all his eighteen years he'd never seen such a violent crash, and time seemed to have stopped.) before he bolted out of the station. The smell of gasoline hung in the air, burning his nostrils the closer he got to the scene. He could hear sirens in the distance; someone must have called the authorities. He slowed his sprint to a walk, unsure if either vehicle would suddenly burst into flames like in the movies.

The truck driver opened his door and stepped out. "I didn't see 'em. I didn't see 'em," the driver chanted to no one in particular. Cody glanced at the man. Other than a nasty gash on his forehead and a busted lip, the man seemed to be fine. Physically, at least.

Rosalyn, however, did not fare so well. Cody peered through the broken glass and twisted metal, then immediately turned and upheaved the salad he'd had for lunch.

The blonde's body was still firmly planted in the driver's seat.

Her head rested in the passenger floorboard, her dark eyes open and her long blonde locks streaked with red.

Her severed left arm lay discarded in the gutter.

**********

Rosalyn Thatcher lay in bed with her eyes closed long after her alarm went off, assessing her situation.

The home was quiet, which meant no children and no live-in man. She breathed a sigh of relief. The house wasn't drafty, so maybe the cashier had been right. It would definitely be considered luck if she was well-off, or at least upper middle class, two lives in a row.

She opened her eyes to a white popcorn ceiling with a mirror positioned over the bed. "Great," she groaned. "That's probably how I'll die this time." She sat up and got out of bed. She rubbed her eyes before padding over to the laptop in the middle of the antique vanity. She opened it and keyed in her password, then chekced the date.

October thirty-first. Halloween.

Rosalyn groaned and picked up a well-worn journal. She'd have to buy a new one before too long; this one was getting full. She leafed through the pages until she reached the last entry.

12,534. October 31, she wrote. Car accident.

Same shit, same day.

Being immortal wasn't fun when you only got a life a day.

A/N: Happy Halloween guys! I thought it was high time I updated this little collection, and what better day to do it than All Hallow's Eve! If you're dressing up, I'd love to hear about your costumes in the comments!