Alexis couldn't go outside. There was a mummy waiting outside to maul her for one reason or another.
She made sure that she'd turned off all of the lights in her apartment and peeked out from between the curtains. Night had fallen some time ago, but it didn't matter to the mummy one way or the other. Thinking that he'd hide from the harsh rays of the Sun, she'd made a run for provisions earlier. She'd nearly tripped over him and his gaudy lawn chair that he'd set up on her porch. Luckily, the only thing that she lost was a packet of cigarettes that she'd dropped.
Her one advantage, though, is that he couldn't move very fast. Dessicated tendons were on Alexis' side.
Now as she peeked out of her window, she didn't see anything amiss. The hazy pools of orange light from the street lamps bathed the rows of cars outside. A family walked their dog. A man arrived to pick up his date. He honked his horn, eliciting looks of annoyance from the family, all except the little boy, who was too busy climbing parking meters to notice. A moment later, the man's date scurried out of the building across the street, moving as deliberately as if her stilettos had been stilts.
And there, leaning against a hybrid, was the mummy. A thin trail of smoke floated above his head while he puffed on a cigarette. One of her cigarettes, no doubt. The cherry blazed as red as his eyes, which he had fixed on her window. With a yelp, she pulled back from the curtains.
She had to confront the mummy now.
Taking a deep breath, she went downstairs and threw open the front door to her building.
The mummy pushed himself away from the hybrid, dropped his cigarette on the ground, and stomped on it with his heel.
With a howl like a tenor walking in on his wife with another man, the embers of the cigarette engulfed the mummy in flames.
It had worked like a charm.
The Moral: in these tough economic times, think of the firefighters: be as careless as possible with your cigarettes.