Clara's breath hitched in her throat. The thing wearing Emmanuel's skin tilted its head, twitching like a broken puppet. Its mouth smiled but only the lips moved. The eyes remained glassy. Dead.
"You left the door open, Clara…"
She turned and ran down the stairs, out into the street. The air was thick with the smell of rain and something else… metallic. Like rust. Or blood.
She sprinted barefoot, heart slamming, not knowing where to go only that she had to get away. But as she turned a corner, she skidded to a stop.
There, standing beneath the flickering streetlamp, was the man in the black coat.
Smiling.
Not moving.
Just watching.
Again.
She backed away, but behind her another figure stepped out. A woman this time, hair wet and clinging to her face. Her nightgown was soaked. Her feet left bloody prints on the pavement.
Clara turned in a panic.
More figures.
One by one, they emerged from the alleys. The shadows. The drains. The abandoned house across the street. All wearing familiar faces.
Her dead neighbor.
Her old music teacher.
Her childhood dog on two legs.
They encircled her slowly, humming that lullaby again.
She screamed, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"
They spoke in one voice.
A deep, guttural, endless whisper.
"You let us in, Clara. We just want to stay."