"What a cliché," I mumbled, to the chagrin of my companion. "See, the door is ajar, so the couple is compelled to investigate; the monster jumps out, a chase ensues, the hot one survives because the guy trips and gets eaten."
I was right, of course. She clicked her tongue at me, signalling her irritation. I couldn't help it; years of horror movies had made me a cynic.
She was still fuming as we approached our front door. The handle was on the floor, and it was slightly ajar. "What a cliché," I began, and then I wished I hadn't.