I ran upstairs.
Mom was waiting at the dining table.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
She smiled when she saw me.
Soft.
Warm.
Normal.
"Leonard," she said, patting the chair beside her. "Sit."
I didn't want to.
But my legs moved anyway.
Like strings were attached.
She reached across the table and held my hands.
They were cold.
Freezing.
"Do you know what happens when a character becomes aware?" she asked sweetly.
Her thumb pressed into my palm.
Harder.
Harder.
Until skin split.
Blood welled between our fingers.
I winced.
She didn't.
"Stories must correct themselves," she whispered.
Her jaw began to unhinge.
Slowly.
The skin at the corners of her mouth tore as it stretched wider.
And wider.
Her cheeks split open to her ears.
Her smile carved into something permanent.
From her throat—
Ivy crawled out.
Covered in blood.
Her small body twisting unnaturally.
Bones popping into reversed angles.
She dropped onto the table with a wet thud.
Mom's body fell backward, hollow.
Just skin.
Empty.
Ivy stood up on the dining table.
Her head snapped toward you.
"You keep reading," she giggled.
The giggle distorted into a scream.
And she lunged at me.