Generally speaking, Jane Molson was not one of those people who were superstitious. She did not put much stock into things like good, and bad omens. In her opinion, black cats were still cats. It was just that their fur was an unusual colour.
Broken mirrors meant nothing more than additional reflective surfaces to look at yourself in. And the number thirteen held no significance whatsoever to Jane. Even when it came on a Friday.
But the key word there was generally.
Just because Jane did not normally believe in such things. That did not mean that she was someone who dismissed her intuition telling her that something was not right.
And that day, Jane could not shake the feeling that something was about to go wrong.
She had woken up in the morning feeling uneasy but she had pushed it aside and had tried to go about her day. Then while in the living room Jane had heard a repetitive pecking sound coming from the window.
