hapter 3
Chapter 3
I nodded like I was listening, then used the bathroom as an excuse to grab my phone and call the police.
The screen went black the second I tried to dial or text.
So I went back out and knelt in the living room, stuck in that stupid New Year’s ritual.
My head hung low and my eyes kept darting to my parents.
Ever since I got home, something felt off in the apartment.
They looked like my parents, but something was wrong–what, I couldn’t tell..
I frowned and watched every little thing they did.
My dad stayed planted on the couch reading the same thin newspaper, flipping it again and again for hours.
Since I walked in, he hadn’t gotten up once or said a single word, my mom kept bringing him dinner like it was
nothing.
My mom acted normal, except–her face was different.
Younger.
Six months ago her face was creased and tired, now it was stretched tight, skin pulled plain and smooth.
Her features tilted upward like a bad doll, and up close there was something twisted about it.
Her gray hair stuck out from under her cap and looked wrong against that too–tight face
When I remembered that awful sound she made earlier, a chill rolled through me.
These two might not be my parents at all–maybe they’re impostors.
Where were my real parents?
Were they hurt? Kidnapped? Dead?
The impostor woman sat in the kitchen on a chair wiping at the blood, and the impostor man lounged deep on the couch, but both of them kept sneaking looks at me that made my skin crawl.
If they weren’t my parents, why were they pretending to be?
Murder? Money? Some sick joke?
$70?!
Chapter 3
I glanced toward the front door–only three meters away.
I mapped the path in my head: the woman would take forever to get down from that chair, and the man was too far
to catch me.
I took a deep breath, waited until neither of them was looking, then bolted for the door.
I swung it open and ran.
The man still didn’t move, but the woman slammed off the chair and fell, then scrambled up and chased me in this jerky, broken way.
“Mom! Help! Somebody-” I screamed as I flew down the stairs, aiming for the nearest police station.
I was almost at the second floor when she leapt from the fifth–floor landing and crashed in front of me with a thud.
My brain short–circuited.
In seconds she hauled herself up, limbs creaking like old hinges, and a couple of her teeth rattled out of her mouth and fell to the stairs with a sick, sharp clack.
“Don’t run…” she rasped.
Her remaining teeth were stained black with blood and her breath stank so bad I gagged.
She staggered a few steps and went down again, crawling and flailing on the steps.
I stepped over her, ready to sprint, when I noticed something metallic tangled in her hair, flashing faintly.
On a whim I reached out and pulled one thumbtack free.
Another.
A third.
I couldn’t stop–my fingers found more and more of them until, when I pulled the last tack free, her face just…slid off and dropped to the floor.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
