Chapter 12
TWELVE
THUD
SHAUN
Every instinct screams to run, but my body locks up. My legs refuse. My lungs forget their job.
Val makes a small sound against my palm. A broken whimper she can’t swallow.
I tighten my hold, not to silence her, but to brace her. My thumb drags once across her cheek. I’m here. I’m not letting go.
If this thing comes closer, I’ll put myself between them and her. I don’t care how. I don’t care what it costs. She gets out. That’s the only rule that matters.
Drew’s body lurches forward, vines threaded through his arms and chest like cords pulled too tight. His shoulders snap at angles they never should. His boots scrape across the floor in short, uneven steps.
Drew.
My chest caves in.
I want to scream his name. I want to rush out there, grab him by the shoulders, tell him to knock it off. Tell him this isn’t funny. That it’s gone too far.
But the thing wearing his body isn’t Drew anymore.
The vines twitch and cinch, hauling him forward in sharp, broken motions. Stutter. Stop. Reset. Like something learning how to use him.
Fred’s body lurches beside him, just as wrong. Just as empty. Vines knot through his torso, glistening under the dim light. The pumpkin on his shoulders tilts, its carved grin stretched wide and dripping.
My heartbeat pounds against my ribs, loud enough I’m sure it will give us away.
Then Fred’s body drops and drags something farther into view.
Sandie.
Her body scrapes across the floor, skin dragging against wood with a sound I’ll never forget.
Blood streaks behind her in thick, shining lines.
Her hair tangles around the vines cinched tight at her wrists, every pull forcing her head at a wrong angle.
A blistered burn mark splits her chest, blackened and angry, like something branded her from the inside out.
Val goes utterly still.
Wet heat soaks into my fingers.
Tears.
Each silent sob punches through my chest like it’s my fault. Like I failed to keep her safe from this.
I want to turn her away. I want to cover her eyes and drag her somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Drew’s body looms over Sandie. Its carved grin stretches wider as it bends, vines groaning like old rope under strain. For a single, horrifying second, it almost looks thoughtful. Proud. Like it’s admiring its craftsmanship.
Then it lifts the axe.
The blade catches the light before it comes back down.
Thud.
The sound slams straight into my skull.
Sandie’s head drops and rolls across the floor. It bumps once. Spins. Comes to rest beside the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Blood pours from her neck, bright and slick, spreading fast across the wood.
My stomach heaves. Acid burns up my throat. I swallow it back because I don’t get to fall apart. Not now. Not when Val needs me upright.
A smaller pumpkin rolls forward, eager. It presses into the open wound, rind squelching against torn flesh. Roots explode from its underside, writhing, plunging deep. They wrap her shoulders. Her ribs. Her hips. Claiming her piece by piece.
The thing straightens.
Sandie’s body rises with it, limp and swinging, like a costume finally filled. Her pink sneakers drag across the floor as the pumpkin stands tall on her legs, wobbling once before finding balance.
Learning.
I press my forehead into Val’s hair and swallow a scream that would get us killed.
With easy, almost reverent care, Drew’s body raises a knife. Blood still slicks the blade, dark and clotted. He presses it to the pumpkin perched on Sandie’s shoulders.
The rind gives.
My body twitches with each scrape and drag of the blade. One of its vines caresses the butterfly tattoo on Sandie’s arm.
Triangle eyes form first. Then a wide, crooked grin, stretched too far to ever mean joy.
The pumpkin’s mouth gapes open. Seeds spill out and dangle in slick strands, swaying as if the thing is breathing.
I keep my mouth near Val’s hair and breathe the words I can’t risk saying aloud.
“Don’t move. Don’t breathe.”
The pumpkin on Drew’s body turns. The obvious leader. It bends and lifts Sandie’s severed head from the floor. Cradles it like something precious. Vines brush her hair back in a mockery of tenderness that makes my vision go red.
This thing is wearing my friend.
The others fall in line behind it, obedient as trained animals. Vines rasp across the floor. Boots scrape wood. Seeds skitter and roll, sticking to blood smeared in long, ugly streaks.
The front door groans open, then slams shut behind the backs of the demented trio, sealing us in.
Silence crashes into the house, heavy and suffocating. It presses against my ears until it feels alive. Thinking. Like it’s deciding whether it forgot something.
Val’s breathing stutters under my hand. I don’t move. I don’t blink. I listen past the ringing in my ears for the drag of vines outside.
Seconds stretch thin. My lungs burn.
Her fingers find mine and clamp down hard, nails biting into my skin. My body hums like a wire pulled too tight, terror and grief twisting together until I can’t tell which one hurts worse.
Drew’s face flashes through my mind. His laugh. The way he always showed up. The way I couldn’t save him.
Guilt punches deep, sharp and relentless.
We stay frozen in the dark, tangled together, waiting to see if the quiet breaks.