Chapter 11 - The Root and the Branch
The cold grip around Marcus’s throat felt like a band of frozen iron. He clawed desperately at the double’s wrist, but his fingers slipped off the fabric of the gray henley as if it were coated in ice. His lungs burned for air, his vision tunneling into black edges as the entity lifted him effortlessly off the floor.
“Marcus!” Clara screamed, her voice finally breaking its monotone cadence. She leaped from her chair, grabbing a heavy glass pitcher from the counter and smashing it down over the intruder’s arm.
The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards against the double’s forearm, but the arm didn't release its grip. Instead, black sap oozed from the superficial scratch on the entity's skin, smelling intensely of rich, damp earth.
Zuri aimed her phone’s flashlight directly into the double’s face. The bright LED beam struck the entity's eyes, and for a fraction of a second, the pupils dilated into vertical, cat-like slits of pure darkness.
The double hissed—a sound like dry leaves scraping across concrete in a gale wind—and dropped Marcus to the floor. Marcus hit the hardwood hard, gasping desperately for oxygen, clutching his bruised throat.
The entity didn't pursue him. It turned its head slowly toward Maya, who was still sitting calmly at the table, her fingers resting beside the plate of cold spaghetti.
“It’s time for the exchange,” the double rasped.
Maya stood up, smoothing the front of her light gray sweatshirt. She didn't look terrified; her face was a mask of absolute, unnatural serenity as she walked past the intruder and headed straight down the dark hallway toward the laundry room.
“Maya, no!” Marcus wheezed, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He tried to crawl after her, but his legs felt impossibly heavy, anchored to the floor by the same black, pulsing roots that wrapped around the double’s boots.
Clara dropped to her knees beside Marcus, her hands trembling as she grabbed his shoulders. “We couldn't stop it, Marcus. Every ten years, the house demands a child to feed the roots, or the whole town sinks into the sinkhole.”
Marcus stared at his wife, horror overriding his pain. “What are you talking about? This is a normal subdivision!”
“Look out the window,” Zuri called out from the front living room, her voice trembling violently.
May you like
Marcus forced his head up, looking through the kitchen window toward the street. The neighboring houses—every single suburban home on the block—were completely dark, their front porches illuminated by identical plates of cold spaghetti resting on their washing machines visible through open utility room windows.
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