On Friday the 13th of all days, she found herself in many ways disoriented and afraid. She did everything she could to avoid the sinister power, she avoided cracks and waking underneath ladders, but all went to heck when the devil’s number came into view and everything thus forth was thrown quite askew.

A rabbit foot around her neck or a lucky four-leaf clover could not counterbalance the bad luck of which had already befell her.

Yesterday as she left she opened her umbrella inside and when she returned she placed her boots on the table. When she tripped and nearly hit the mirror she sighed with relief, but here’s the grief, she’d not checked the one in her purse.

Her hand mirror was shattered, whilst she danced about unaware and it wasn’t until today on Friday the 13th that she dared to check it.

For seven years she’d suffer, but there was some relief, as she left her house the morning after she found a penny; picked it up, all day had good luck until midnight came.

That’s when an old dump truck crashed through her window pane. It tore down her house leaving nothing but herself in the clothes that she’d been wearing and as she stepped back, she stepped on a crack and dreaded the coming years.