Emily pushed open the front door with her shoulder, balancing the little orange pill bottle in one hand and her younger sister's backpack in the other. The air inside was heavy and stale, as though the house itself had been holding its breath while they were gone.
"Mom?" Emily called. Her voice sounded small in the stillness.
The only reply was the soft hum of the old box fan in the corner, struggling against the heat. The TV still flickered in the living room, showing a news anchor with messy hair and a panicked expression. The words Emergency Broadcast crawled across the bottom of the screen in red.
Mia dropped her bag by the door and hugged herself. "It's too quiet, Em."
Emily swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a smile. "She's probably asleep. Come on."
They moved down the narrow hallway, the floor creaking under their feet. Every step made Emily's stomach twist tighter. She hated how wrong the house felt, how it didn't sound like home anymore.
The bedroom door was half open
Their mother lay sprawled on the bed, the sheet tangled around her legs. Her skin was pale, almost gray in the dim light, and her lips were tinged with blue.
"Mom!" Emily rushed forward, dropping the pill bottle onto the nightstand. She grabbed her mother's hand—it was ice cold.
Mia hovered in the doorway, her eyes wide. "Em…?"
Emily shook her mother gently, then harder. "Mom, wake up. Please. We got the medicine. You just need to take it, and—" Her voice broke.
But her mother didn't stir.
The room spun around Emily, the hum of the fan drowning out her thoughts. She had done everything right—waited in line, held the prescription tight, made sure nothing else mattered but getting the pills. And still… she was too late.
Tears burned at her eyes. "No… no, no, no. Not now. Not like this."
Mia stepped closer, her lower lip trembling. "Em… she's not breathing."
Emily turned, pulling her sister into her arms, trying to shield her from the sight. She wanted to be strong, wanted to tell Mia it would be okay. But her chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been ripped out of her.
And then—
A sound.
Soft at first, like a groan. Emily froze. Her arms tightened around Mia. The sound came again—low, guttural, wet
They both turned.
Their mother's chest hitched. Not the steady rise and fall of breath. A twitch. A spasm. Her body jerked unnaturally, like a puppet yanked on its strings.
"Mom?" Mia whispered, hope flickering in her voice.
But when their mother's eyes opened, that hope died instantly.
The eyes weren't warm or gentle. They were cloudy, filmed over with something unnatural. Lifeless. And yet, full of hunger.
Her head snapped toward them, her mouth opening in a soundless snarl. Her fingers clawed at the sheet as she dragged herself forward, movements jerky but unrelenting.
Emily stumbled back, pulling Mia with her. Her pulse roared in her ears.
"That's not her," Emily whispered, her voice shaking. "That's not Mom anymore."
The groaning grew louder. The sheets tore under her nails.
The thing that used to be their mother began to climb out of the bed.