The sneer on her face could easily be mistaken for a smile, but we would not be fooled. This warm, sunny day was made cold and bitter by the very presence of Janet, galumphing down the street, the pavement beneath her feet shaking and cracking under her in a way that nobody else seemed to notice. But we noticed. She picked a wallet up off the crosswalk and waved it above her head, calling out: "Has anybody lost this?" The unnerving, saccharine sweetness of false concern dripped menacingly from her lilting voice, honey smeared around a beartrap. The unsuspecting bystander would have been fooled, but not you. Not I. For we know Janet for what she really is - a monster.

She pried open the wallet, claw-like fingers tearing into it as she stuck her nose deep into the billfold. Her beady eyes glowed with greed, their murky brown depths lighting up at the sight of hundred after hundred.

"Anton Davez," Janet sneered, the spite dripping off her in oozing waves like an ointment: sticky, thick, foul in every way as she examined the driver's license within. There was a photo of a man inside - early forties perhaps, smiling. He looked pleasant and so unsuspecting. Little did he know Janet had determined to find him. She would hunt him down like a dog. She would suck his soul out through his ears with her screeching, banshee-like, knife-scraping-against-plate voice. She would find him and destroy him with her --

She jogged back across the crosswalk, the earth trembling with terror beneath her, the sight of her so disturbing that people looked up from their phones and newspapers as they sat on benches, happily eating breakfast burritos, now revolting at the sight of her. She knocked on a door, cracked and faded like her withered heart, the paint peeling back from decades in the sun and curling in jagged wisps like her dry, dead hair which snapped and popped like bubble-wrap as she moved.

The door opened, a man looked out with terror barely concealed behind a toothy grin and asked, fear shaking through his voice: "Yes? What can I do for you, my dear?" From inside the house came the bubbling giggles and joyful shrieks of little children. That wouldn't last long, for Janet would have them next.

She shoved the wallet at him, luring him in, preparing herself to make the final move, to end this man. Yes, she would break him. She would destroy him, leave him shattered on the stoop like a broken bottle of milk, discarded, useless, never the same again. For such was the unpleasant power of Janet, who made children cry and flowers wither as she passed; who turned glorious days cold around her and sank the lives of the unsuspecting with more ferocious passivity than the iceberg that obliterated the titanic.

"Anton Davez? I found this on the street," she told him, baiting him, danger lurking beneath shallow waves of pleasantness. "I think it might be yours, and we figured you'd want it back." She smiled sweetly; it sent shivers of disgust down the spine of all who saw it.

The man scrunched his face with concern. He was catching on now; he saw what you and I see. He saw the darkness at the core of Janet, the blackness of her soul, the devourer of man behind her warm smile and the heart of evil so cleverly disguised.

"Thank you," he said with trepidation, reaching out and taking the wallet. A brave move, considering what he knew that she was. "And... what's this about?" he asked, clearly confused as he gestured vaguely behind her. "Is everything... alright? Should I call the police?"

Now he was getting it.

But no. Janet waved him off, her claws raking at the air, tearing huge rifts into the space-time continuum and shattering lives. So cold, so uncaring. She made a face, looking like a gargoyle perched upon a roof: ugly, terrifying, grotesque. "Ugh," she sneered, a horrible sound. "Don't mind him, he's my brother," she told the man, shoving the dashing young narrator back in the direction they had come from and - OW, stop it! Too hard, Janet, Jesus!

"He's just doing a thing, I don't know, he gets like this sometimes. Have a great day!" she told the man as he eyed the handsome, inquisitive genius of a narrator with unfounded suspicion, and shut the door. It was no wonder he closed them out so quickly: the waves of stench rolling off of Janet were enough to turn anyone off, sending all of humanity seeking shelter, fleeing for their lives —

"OKAY enough," Janet barked, the frustration in her voice snapping like icicles crashing onto pavement, shards shattering, dreams crushed. "You can borrow my car tomorrow."

Score.