Chapter 8 - The Shared Hallucination
Marcus dropped the phone onto the kitchen island as if it were burning his flesh. The screen flickered and went black. He looked from Clara to Zuri, whose eyes were fixed on the tabletop, refusing to meet his gaze.
“You edited that,” Marcus whispered, backing away toward the back hallway. “Or... or something is messing with the feeds. Where is Maya?”
Before Clara could answer, the heavy wooden door to the laundry room clicked open down the hall. Maya walked out into the kitchen, carrying the exact ceramic plate from the video, the cold spaghetti neatly coiled and topped with the unpeeled hard-boiled egg. She didn't look at Marcus. She walked straight past him, her bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor, and placed the plate right in the center of the kitchen table.
“It’s time for the family meal, Dad,” Maya said in a flat, monotone voice that didn't belong to a ten-year-old child.
Clara walked over to the table and pulled out a chair, gesturing for Marcus to sit down. Her movements were entirely mechanical, devoid of warmth, like actors following a script written by an unseen hand.
“Sit down, Marcus,” Clara said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “If you don't eat what she brings, the walls start bleeding again.”
Marcus stared at the cold spaghetti. A single drop of dark, rust-colored water dripped from the ceiling vent directly onto the center of the hard-boiled egg, staining the white shell a deep, bruised crimson.
“I’m calling the police,” Marcus said, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.
His hand found empty air. His phone was gone. He patted his other pockets—nothing.
Zuri slowly slid his phone across the table. The screen was cracked directly down the middle, displaying a live feed of the front porch.
May you like
On the screen, standing under the porch light, was a tall silhouette wearing a gray henley shirt and dark jeans just like his own, staring directly into the camera lens with a terrifying, unblinking smile.
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