You Don’t Choose The Darkness. The Darkness Chooses You.

She’s supposed to be dead, but there she is — standing at the kitchen counter. My dad and my brother don’t see a problem here. They say she just showed up, without any explanation.

They sound almost pleased.

The dread seeps in.

It’s cold.

Suddenly I can’t move. I can’t speak. I start squirming. Finally my voice squeaks out, “She’s not real.” This thing is pretending to be my mom. It’s a demon, or she was always one. That’s when she turns around. She smiles. It’s a shy smile, hiding something. I look around. My dad and my brother are gone. Then it hits me. I start screaming.

She didn’t come back from the dead.

We’re both dead now.

This is hell.