"How's Mom's food? Is it good?"
The woman with short brunette hair placed the rotisserie chicken on the dining table and looked at her son with warm blue eyes.
The apron was still tied around her waist, and a gentle smile softened her face.
"Looks good, hun. Hope it isn't dry," her husband said with a chuckle.
His dark hair matched their son's, though his green eyes were different from the boy who inherited his mother's.
She laughed. "No way. Mine never gets dry."
She turned back toward the kitchen, where a pan of gravy continued to bubble softly.
"It looks good, Mom. But why are you cooking all this all of a sudden? Did something happen?" the boy asked.
He was about twelve, already helping his father cut the chicken.
"Oh, it is a special day, honey."
Her voice shifted without warning. It became hoarse, dragging and repeating as if it belonged to a broken radio stuck on the same cruel note.
"What's wrong with you, Sarah?" her husband asked.
He stood up from his chair, confusion turning quickly into concern.
Her shadow on the wall stretched unnaturally. It grew larger and distorted, no longer shaped like a woman but something tall and twisted, as if a creature was crawling into her skin.
"Mom… you're scaring me." The boy rose to his feet and stepped back.
"Scared? Scared? Scared!"
She echoed the word in a strained, jittering rhythm. Her shoulders snapped out of place, then rotated with a sickening crack.
Bones shifted under her skin as her arms elongated, bending in directions no human joints should move.
Her nails darkened, turning black and sharp like talons. Her jaw unhinged slightly, revealing teeth that thinned into needle-like points.
Blisters formed along her neck, swelling and popping as her skin turned grey and began to sag like melted wax.
A foul scent filled the room, thick and rotten, as if something dead had awakened inside her.
"Lucas! Go to your room!" his father shouted, but it was already too late.
She turned toward them and tilted her head at an unnatural angle. Black veins spread over her entire body, pulsing like they were filled with ink instead of blood.
Her arms jerked and twisted wildly as she seized a kitchen knife.
"I will kill you all!" she screamed and lunged.
Her husband reacted just in time, grabbing the blade with his bare hand and stopping it inches from his chest.
He shoved the creature that used to be his wife aside and grabbed Lucas, who could only cry, too overwhelmed to understand what was happening.
He pulled the boy to his room and knelt in front of him. "Lucas, do not come out. No matter what you hear, stay here and call the police."
Behind him, the woman's distorted voice echoed through the hallway. "Come here, darling. Why are you hiding? Don't you love me? You even leave your first wife for me!"
His father stood to leave, but Lucas clutched his hand. "Don't go, Dad. Please." His voice shook with panic.
What should have been a warm family dinner had turned into a nightmare. At only twelve years old, Lucas could not make sense of the terror unfolding around him.
His father forced a smile despite the fear in his eyes. "It's okay, son. I'll be fine."
He gently pulled free from Lucas's hand. The boy collapsed to the floor, his limbs stiff with shock, unable to move as the horror in the hallway grew louder.
He searched for the phone and dialed the police, just as his father told him. The call connected, but the sounds outside his room made his voice freeze.
Something crashed. His father screamed. Furniture shattered against the walls.
"What's happening to you? Get a hold of yourself, Sarah! It's me, your husband!"
His father's voice was desperate, cracking under fear.
Sarah laughed. "Husband? You lied to me, you cheated on me. You are already married, bastard. I will kill you."
Another crash echoed.
"Sarah!" his father shouted, followed by the sickening sound of a knife sinking into something soft and wet.
"Dad…" Lucas whispered. Tears blurred his vision as he crept toward the door, unsure what to do.
But Sarah's laughter grew louder. Her footsteps dragged closer, each one heavier than the last. Then came the knock.
"Lucas. This is your mother. Please open the door."
Her voice was suddenly normal, gentle even, as if everything before had been a dream.
"Mom?" His voice trembled while he leaned closer.
"Yes. Open the door, son. Let Mom come in."
The doorknob rattled violently, twisting back and forth as Sarah slammed her weight against the wood.
"Open the door. Open the door!" she screamed.
Lucas staggered backward, shouting for help, hoping someone might hear him.
"Stop! Mom, stop! What's happening to you? Why did you do this?"
He pressed his hands over his ears, but her voice still forced its way through.
The banging grew more violent. The crack of metal split the air as she drove the knife into the door.
Bam. Bam.
"I am going to get you, son!" she laughed, stabbing through the wood again until a small hole appeared. In seconds, it widened.
"You are the same as him, a bastard's son! A child born from a filthy affair!"
"No… Mother, please stop!"
Lucas collapsed to the floor, shaking. Sweat and tears soaked his skin as the snowstorm outside clawed at the windows.
Crack. Crack.
Her hand pushed through the hole. Then her face followed, twisted and grinning. She stared at him with empty black eyes that had lost all traces of white.
But instead of reaching in, she opened her mouth. It stretched impossibly wide. Her lips tore, splitting upward until thin flaps of skin peeled from her face.
She raised the knife and shoved it into her own mouth, stabbing deep into her throat.
Blood sprayed through the hole in bright bursts. She kept laughing, choking on her own voice while staring directly at Lucas.
Her jaw snapped and hung loose as she pulled the blade back out, exposing the mess inside.
Her ruined mouth twisted into a smile.
"The next will be you."
.
.
.
Lucas gasped and jolted awake. Sweat soaked his skin and tears slipped down his cheeks. His chest heaved as if he had been sprinting for miles.
"That nightmare again… what the hell," he whispered.
He turned toward the small clock on his bedside table. The numbers glowed faintly in the darkness. It was only five in the morning.
Outside, the wind pressed against the window in long, ghostly gusts.
Another snowstorm must be coming.
He ran a shaky hand over his face and let out a tired breath. The same thought circled in his mind every time he woke up like this.
The nightmare always returned when the weather turned cold. It had to be the trauma he buried deep down. Nothing else made sense.
Lucas pushed himself out of bed and looked around his cramped room. Another day waited for him, heavy and unwelcome.
He steadied himself, swallowed the lingering fear, and began getting ready for another sickening morning.