It sounded like a string of firecrackers going off. Lavinia's twisted arm and fractured thigh suddenly contorted even further, bending backward unnaturally. What had been a mangled corpse lying sideways on the floor turned into something grotesque—like a four-legged spider facing upward, its limbs splayed in a horrifying way.
That was Emma's first thought—an image flashing through her mind that made her stomach twist.
With a bone-grinding crack, Lavinia's neck rotated a full one-eighty. Her skin stretched into deep spiral folds, and with her hair falling over her face, she looked just like a ghost returned from hell.
Ugly. Hideous.
Bloodshot eyes glared with pure, unfiltered hatred.
Kill.
Her limbs exploded with sudden strength as she sprang to life. Lavinia leapt up onto the stair railing, crouching there like some monstrous creature, letting out an eerie, throaty sound.
"Hhh… hhh… hhh…"
Terror coiled around Emma's body like a venomous snake, making her arms and legs weak.
Tap tap tap tap!
The sound of frantic, high-speed footsteps echoed like drumbeats pounding directly on her heart.
The reanimated Lavinia crawled up the stairs with terrifying speed, her limbs moving in an unnatural, cross-limbed rhythm.
Oh God, oh God, this can't be real…
Emma's face drained of color, but she refused to just sit and wait to die. She scrambled back to her room, slammed the door shut, and locked it tight.
Hide. She had to hide. If she got caught, it was over.
Emma wasn't the type to cry over someone else's death—but when it came to her own life, she treasured it more than anything.
She didn't want to die. That was the only thing on her mind.
Her eyes darted around the room. The only place she could hide—somewhere not easily spotted—was under the bed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The pounding on the door came fast and hard, like some cursed rhythm of death.
Emma held her breath, her heart thundering in her chest as she silently prayed that Lavinia wouldn't come in.
The banging went on and on… until, suddenly, it stopped.
Silence.
Emma could hear nothing but her own shallow breathing and the rapid beat of her heart. The quiet made it worse—her whole body went rigid with fear.
Drip.
A bead of cold sweat slid down her cheek. Only then did she realize her forehead was slick with sweat, her clothes already soaked through.
Was it over?
Peering through the narrow gap under the bed, Emma stared out into the room, her nails digging deep into her palms, leaving red marks behind.
The house was still—deathly still.
Maybe… maybe it was over.
Where's Dad? she thought suddenly. Why hasn't he come for me yet?
Whenever Emma felt unsafe, she always wanted to see her father.
"Emma, I'm here! Where are you?" came David's voice from outside the room.
Relief and joy rushed through her chest—
"Ahhhh! What are you—Lavinia! You monster!"
"Dad, I'm—"
Before she could even finish, Emma froze at the sound of her father's scream—a long, gut-wrenching cry.
Then came the thump, thump, thump of something heavy rolling down the stairs.
That sound… she knew it too well.
The sound of a body tumbling.
The realization struck her like lightning. A chill raced from the base of her spine straight up to her scalp.
Am I going to die too?
Emma didn't want to know the answer. She didn't want to die.
But right now, there was nothing else she could do—except wait for death.
Time dragged on. Lavinia never entered the room. Maybe the locked door had kept her out… or maybe she had left.
Either way, Emma's heart slowly began to settle.
The room was pitch-black now. Somehow, she had stayed hidden from day to night. Had that much time really passed?
The lights were still off. No glow, no sound.
She hadn't eaten all day. Hunger and thirst gnawed at her, and the longer she stayed there, the colder she felt.
That chill… it wasn't normal. It was the kind of cold that crept into your bones.
She couldn't stay here anymore.
Maybe it was safe now. Maybe Lavinia was gone.
Emma carefully moved her stiff, numb limbs and crawled out from under the bed.
Relying on memory, she crept toward the door as quietly as she could.
If she could just open it—she'd call for help.
But when she pulled, the door wouldn't budge. It felt like it had been welded shut.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
The sudden shrill of a phone filled the silent room.
Emma's knees gave out and she slumped against the door, her back pressing against the cold wood. Then she felt something—something soft brushing against her neck.
Hair.
Long hair.
Then came a sticky sensation running down her neck, along with the faint, metallic scent of blood.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Terror froze her in place. She couldn't even think anymore.
The strange sound above her grew louder—and mixed with it was the faint glow of a phone screen.
The strands of hair around her neck tightened, forcing her head upward.
Slowly—stiffly—Emma looked up… and found herself staring into a pale, upside-down face. Blood seeped down the woman's ghostly cheeks, dripping through her hanging hair onto Emma's skin.
Emma couldn't scream. Her pupils shrank to pinpoints. Her whole body trembled violently.
Lavinia's limbs had stretched unnaturally long, her hands ending in twisted, claw-like fingers that clung to the ceiling like some monstrous human-faced spider.
Her mouth opened wide—and from the darkness inside, a bright light flashed.
It was a phone.
"Em… ma… bad… girl…"
The voice came from the phone speaker—it was Emma's own father's voice from earlier, when she had called him for help.
That meant the one who picked up back then… had been Lavinia all along.
Emma could only watch as her body was slowly lifted off the floor, drawn closer and closer toward Lavinia.
Then—everything went black.
—
"Ahhhhh!"
A shrill scream tore through the house.
Emma shot out of bed, trembling violently.
"Sweetheart! I'm coming!"
David rushed into the room, flipping on the light. His heart ached when he saw his daughter curled up on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.
"Don't come any closer! No—!"
Emma screamed again, completely trapped in her nightmare.
"Emma! Emma!"
David pulled her into his arms, trying to calm her.
"It's just a nightmare. Don't be afraid—it's not real. It's not real."
It took a long time before Emma finally settled down. Exhausted from crying, she eventually fell asleep in her father's embrace.
David gently laid her back in bed, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
This was the second time Emma had reacted like this. She'd always been such a good, composed girl—he never thought she could be so terrified by a dream.
He decided he'd find a good psychologist for her, as soon as possible.
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