A March 7th issue of The Onion was lying on the kitchen table next to a pile of newspapers. Gemini, whose hippie parents obviously named her during a drug-induced haze of sensibility, flipped through the paper. She sipped her coffee and turned to the horoscopes.

"Ah, Gemini," she said to herself. Which, obviously, was her horoscope. Damn those hippie parents.

Her horoscope read:

In a tragic twist of fate, you'll be overwhelmed this week by both a sense of fear and a pack of wolves.

She grinned. The Onion. Always so funny and full of silly horoscopes. She sipped her coffee some more.

A scratching sound came from the rear door. It sounded like fingernails scrapping on metal.

Gemini stood up and looked out the window. The backyard was empty.

"Huh," she muttered. She opened the rear door. The scratching stopped. Again, the backyard was empty.

"Just my imagination," she told herself. Gemini carefully shut the door and took another sip of coffee.

"AAAAIIIIEEEE!" A watery scream shook the kitchen. It came from upstairs.

"Mother!" She dropped her coffee and dashed up the stairs. "Mother! Mooother!!"

She swung open her parent's bedroom door. The bed was neatly made and her parent's Woodstock memorabilia decorated the room, love beads and all. There was no sign of her Mother though.

"Mother…?" Gemini whispered. She inched in. An eerie smell caught her. It smelled like mildew on old, wet laundry. Or a wet dog.

Her heart was pounding. She gripped her chest. "What the hell is going on?" she muttered.

CRASH! There was a smash of glass downstairs. From the kitchen. Gemini's head felt heavy as she stumbled back up. She steadied herself on the wall and slowly slid to the staircase.

Something howled in the kitchen. "Arooooooooo!"

"Oh, come on," she mumbled. "That's too predictable. Don't tell me I'm actually going to be overwhelmed by a pack of…"

A pack of wolves appeared at the foot of the stairs. Their jaws curled, revealing blood-stained teeth. They growled and arched their backs.

"Now that's just stupid," she stated plainly.

The wolves leapt forward, bounding up the stairs. Her legs took an agonizing second to respond. Then she scrambled back to her parent's bedroom and slammed the door.

"Arooooooooo!" The wolves crashed into the door, rattling its hinges. The walls shook. The love beads swayed.

Gemini staggered backwards and frantically looked around. The window. She raced over and opened it.

The door began to splinter. Her eyes bulged. "Those are some strong wolves! Geez!"

She dangled her legs out the window and lowered herself. The ground wasn't too far below. She let go and dropped. The impact sent slivers of pain up her calves.

Gemini rubbed her legs. From her parent's bedroom, she could hear the wolves tearing down the door.

The kitchen door was ajar, its window shattered. She stared at it for a moment. Then ran back into the kitchen. The ceiling suddenly trembled as the wolves finally broke into her parent's bedroom.

She grabbed the pile of newspapers and pushed the March 7th issue of The Onion to the floor. At the top of the pile was the March 14th issue of The Onion. Gemini tore through the paper and reached the horoscopes. Her horoscope read:

While truth may in fact be stranger than fiction, no one is the least bit interested in your personal adventures in babysitting.

"Waaa! Waaa! Waaa!" came the sound of a baby's cries from upstairs. Gone were the howls of the wolves.

Gemini slouched into a chair. Her hair dangled in her face. She sighed a long and weary sigh.

"Waa! Waa! Waa!"

She looked up. Scratched her nose. Then picked up the papers and threw them into the trash.

. . .

What's your horoscope say?