The crisp 2-noted sound of the doorbell rang slowly. Ding-Dooong. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were relaxing in their home; Mr. Granger eating popcorn in front of the TV like the couch potato he is, and the cleaning-obsessed Mrs. Granger doing a final wipe-down of the kitchen counter.
"Honey!" Mrs. Granger called to her husband.
"I know, dear, I've got it…" Mr. Granger called, groaning slightly on the inside. He heaved himself up from the couch, leaving his warm, comfortable hollow in the stuffing, and shuffled in bare feet to the door.
Unassumingly, the middle-aged man opened the door.
He didn't live long enough to even see what hit him, as a bright green flash of light filled the room. His body thumped the floor.
The heavy clomping of boots was heard from the kitchen, stepping closer and closer. Mrs. Granger was still oblivious of her husband's death at this point, but she grew slightly alarmed at this unfamiliar sound. She turned her head.
"Honey? Who is this?"
Another flash of green struck her square in the chest. Her body slumped against the counter that just seconds ago, was cleaned by her.
There was no blood, no violence, no struggle. Just death.
