Note, this was written 10 minutes flat at work while ducking radar!
When Katherine Spengler entered the firehouse, what she saw was a place in distress. All the floors were dark and empty, showing little sign of civilization. The resident ghost was no where to be seen, nor were the four occupants and their secretary.
Mrs. Spengler dared to venture to the next level, where it was more darker than on the ground. The TV sat like a silent sentinel, waiting for a new audience.
As she neared the kitchen area, she saw three men and a woman. All four were dressed in clothing that showed signs of wear and tear. The woman's face was streaked with mascara, a sign that she had been crying.
The four stragglers' hair stood wild above their heads, a frantic look were in their eyes.
Mrs. Spengler reared back in shock. What had happened to these four?
Her answer soon came as she heard the banging of pots in the kitchen. She peered around the corner and felt her heart stop in her chest.
Ray. Was. Cooking. And from the look of things, whatever he was fighting to stuff in the pot was winning.
She turned to the four and asked, "How long has it been since you've had a genuine home-cooked meal?"
The four simply pointed at a calendar and fainted.
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