The thing that was wearing my mother’s face smiled at me. She, It invited me into the house, too long fingers clicking against the door. I had run before, but it avoided the questions with enough tact to almost convince me. Almost, until it turned its smile and it’s glassy, staring eyes on me.
I could see myself in those eyes, scared and thin and frail. Other things, with other faces had chased me for years. But now I had come to them.
They were all at table.
I gripped the detonator in my pocket and stepped through the door.
About the Creator
Alexander McEvoy
Writing has been a hobby of mine for years, so I'm just thrilled to be here! As for me, I love writing, dogs, and travel (only 1 continent left! Australia-.-)
"The man of many series" - Donna Fox
I hope you enjoy my madness
AI is not real art!
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