Tariq stared, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. The pain in his side dulled — not from healing, but sheer disbelief.
"You… you ate her?" he asked.
The woman tilted her head, her empty eye sockets gleaming as if the question was absurd. Her smile never faltered.
"Why, yes!" she said sweetly, clapping her hands. "And all the other little ones here too! They were delicious! I just couldn't help myself."
Then — the stitching on her stomach began to unlace.
One thread.
Then another.
Each one snapping with a soft, wet pop, until the entire slit gaped open like a grotesque mouth.
Tariq gagged, the sight wrenching at his gut. Pain bloomed sharply in his side again.
What the hell is this? What is she?
From the open cavity, something fell — tumbling wetly onto the ground in front of him. It twitched. Then it moved. And then, impossibly, it stood.
It was the girl.
The one he'd saved.
Her limbs cracked as they locked into place. Her skin sagged strangely, like a costume barely clinging to muscle.
She looked at him.
Just... smiling.
"We're ever so grateful," the woman cooed, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
The girl turned her head. Slowly. Mechanically.
She looked up at the woman. Then back at Tariq.
And smiled — the same, impossibly wide smile stitched across her surrogate mother's face.
She nodded.
Tariq's breath hitched as he noticed small silhouettes shifting in the shadows behind her. Dozens of them. Children — standing motionless in the dark corners of the room.
"Oh… fuck," he whispered.
He tried to stand. His legs trembled. Then collapsed beneath him.
He hit the ground hard, groaning.
"Oh, you strong types," the woman mused, voice honeyed with mockery. "Always thinking you're invincible."
Suddenly — agony. A sharp, burning stab shot through his calf.
Tariq screamed.
"I saw your little spat with the mutt outside," she said, stepping toward him. "Not a scratch on you!"
He turned his head—and flinched.
She was right there.
Her face inches from his, her neck stretched impossibly long, veiny and twitching like a puppet's cord.
"So," she whispered, eye sockets empty, smile stitched wide, "I made a microscopic needle from the children's bones. Cool, right?"
Tariq howled as something inside his leg twisted.
"Oh! Did I forget to mention?" she giggled, voice bouncing like a child's. "I can make it grow."
The needle inside him wriggled, expanded.
Tariq's vision blurred with pain.
"Or shrink…" she added cheerfully. "Or maybe just stay there and wiggle until it finds your heart."
She laughed — loud and sharp — as his screams echoed through the room.
I'm gonna die.
That was all Tariq could think as the pain wracked his body. Heat bloomed in his chest — not warm, not burning — unbearable. Like his blood was boiling.
The woman's voice danced above him, distant and warbling.
"Oh, and thank you again for getting rid of the mutt!" she chirped. "With him gone, and the spider, and... whatever that thing was earlier — I can finally come out of hiding and meet all the children I want!"
Her words blurred, melted into a haze.
Tariq could barely breathe. His ears rang. The heat kept rising, searing him from the inside out. His vision doubled.
Is she still talking?
He looked up.
That smile.
That god-awful, wide, skin-splitting smile.
Her lips were moving.
But he heard nothing.
Suddenly — the smile vanished.
Her entire expression dropped into something unreadable. She gasped and backed away, fast, retreating to the far corner of the room.
She was afraid.
Of him.
Then… nothing.
Just darkness.
And silence.
"...riq... ariq... TARIQ."
A sharp pain snapped across Tariq's cheek. His eyes flew open.
Blinking through the blur, he saw her — his mother. Kneeling in front of him, her big brown eyes locked onto his, full of worry.
Her long black locks fell to her shoulders, and the neon green scrubs she wore made her mocha skin glow beneath the sunlight.
"Don't scare me like that, boy," she muttered, exhaling in relief. "Thought you were dead for a second."
She stood, reached into her bag, and handed him a Lunchable.
"It's lunchtime. Your father should be here soon to pick you up."
Tariq sat up, slowly opening the plastic tray. She dropped beside him on the bench, watching him with that soft, steady presence she always carried.
"So," she said gently, "what were you dreaming about, huh? You were sleeping real hard over here."
Tariq peeled open the cracker pack and started building a tiny sandwich.
"I dreamed I died," he said casually, placing cheese on top of the ham.
She laughed. Not the nervous kind — but the warm, knowing kind. "Oh really? And how'd it feel?"
Tariq stuffed the cracker into his mouth.
"Hey, slow down," she said, smiling. "The food ain't goin' nowhere."
He smiled through a full mouth. They both laughed.
"So tell me," she leaned in, placing her hand on top of his head "were you scared?"
Tariq nodded.
She paused, then said in that calm, deep-thinking voice she used when she called him by his middle name:
"Death ain't nothin' but a friend, Lonnie."
Tariq looked up at her.
"It all depends on how you live your life," she said. "You gonna let it take you as a friend... or an enemy?"
He shoved another sandwich into his mouth. "Friend," he mumbled, crumbs falling.
She shook her head. "I don't know if Death's gonna want you, with manners like that," she teased, pinching his cheek.
They giggled.
Ding.
Her phone lit up.
"Alright, your dad's here," she said, standing. "Time to go."
As Tariq got to his feet, she smiled down at him. "The greens should be done by the time I get home tonight. Make sure your dad doesn't sneak any before I get back."
He handed her the empty Lunchables tray.
She took it, and gently shoved him towards the door.
"Be good, okay?"
The doors slid open and Tariq stepped into the sunlight.