Goodreads asked R.J. MacDonald:

Can you tell us a two-sentence horror story?

R.J. MacDonald It was a sweltering hot, humid afternoon and the old exterior mesh door swung closed behind him with a bang as he pulled off his work-gloves and walked towards the ice box, dreaming of a beer- a cold lager, with condensation running down the tall-neck bottle. Licking his lips in anticipation he yanked opened the heavy refrigerator door and peering inside he reached towards the beer shelf, before realising in horror- it was empty.

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