A toxic stew I will make.
I hope they like it.
The door opens and we see a WOMAN in a nice out fit. She’s all smiles and a good neighbor. In her hand is a bowl covered with foil.
Hello Jen. I thought I’d make everyone a little stew for dinner.
Oh wow. Thank you. Would you like to come in for tea or something?
No thanks, I have a lot of stew to deliver.
She smiles again.
Okay, thanks again. Herald always loves your cooking.
The door closes.
We hear a doorbell and the door swings open. The same woman stands before us, another dish covered in foil. An older woman greats our main character. The woman smiles warmly.
Good evening. Made you some dinner.
Aren’t just the sweetest thing? Thank you.
We will. Thank you.
We see the repeated images of doors swinging open and the woman handing out stew.
The woman sits at her dining table. Candles are burning and she’s enjoying a glass of wine. A bowl of untouched stew sits in front of her.
Pan around the table. Her family. Husband, mother in-law, kids, all are slumped over their stews. Dead.
The woman reaches out and lovingly touches a small container with liquid inside. Written on the label is the word “arsenic”
We here pounding from somewhere nearby. A crash. Shouting.
Police rush in guns out.
FADE TO BLACK: