Something isn't right.
I can feel it.
The night smells suspicious.
Too clean. Too quiet.
Even the big metal cold box (Andrew calls it a 'fridge') sounds like it's whispering secrets.
I peek over my pillow mountain — the one made of stolen couch cushions. Everything looks normal… until I see it.
There. In the corner. A shimmer.
A fuzzy creature is staring at me.
Round. Gray.
Suspiciously handsome.
But also terrifying.
I tilt my head.
It tilts too.
I blink.
It blinks.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
That's no ordinary intruder.
That's a copykoala.
A dark, soul-sucking demon who mimics my every move.
My claws flex automatically.
This is it — the day I've been training for (mentally).
The mansion's peace depends on me.
I stand tall on my stubby legs and growl — a fierce sound from deep within my tiny chest.
Okay fine, it sounds like "mrrrp," but that's not the point.
The fuzzy demon copies me again.
He dares to mock me.
I narrow my eyes. He does too.
He's good.
Too good.
