“Oh, Dad,” her demon-self giggled, and rolled her eyes.

Amber’s mother stepped up, carving knife in hand. “Leg or breast?” she asked.

“Leg,” said her dad, and her demon-self said, “She doesn’t have much of the other.” They laughed the way a family was supposed to laugh, with good humour and warmth. Behind them, Wesley Sterling loaded a spear into the speargun, which was roughly the length of Amber’s forearm.

“This was my father’s,” Sterling said. “Only good thing he ever did, teaching me to use it.”

Nobody else heard him, and Amber ignored him. Her mother carved a slice off Amber’s leg and laid it on a plate. It was white meat, and steam rose off it.

“I don’t want to be eaten,” said Amber.

Her parents turned into demons.

“So?” said her demon dad.

“We don’t care,” said her demon mom.

“We’re going to eat you, anyway,” said her demon-self.

Amber shook her head, started to get up, but a dozen corpse hands emerged from the table and grabbed her, pulled her back down. She kicked and struggled and her mom carved off another slice. The kitchen was gone. They were in the Firebird Diner now.

“Please don’t eat me,” Amber sobbed. “I don’t want you to eat me.”

Her parents had full plates, and they ate with their fingers. When their fangs pierced the white meat, blood ran down their chins, dripped on to their clothes. So overwhelmed were they by the taste of Amber’s flesh that they didn’t hear her sobbing.

Her demon-self leaned over. “I hate you,” she said.

“Please let me go.”

“You’re weak,” said her demon-self. She was wearing Amber’s Firebird uniform. It looked so much better on her. “You’re ugly. You’re pathetic. I hate you so much.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“You deserve it, though. For all your stupidity. Think of the life I could have had if you’d been better. You think I’d have let them fool me? You think I’d have had to run?”

“Help me.”

“Why couldn’t you have been stronger? Why couldn’t you have been better?”

Amber’s demon-self picked up a plate of Amber’s flesh and Wesley Sterling moved aside, allowing her to take it to the booth opposite. Two boys sat waiting. Amber knew them. She knew their names. Brandon. Brandon and Dan.

Her demon-self dropped the plate on the floor.

“You stupid fat pig,” said Brandon.

Dan howled with laughter.

“You clumsy, ugly little troll,” Brandon continued. “You did that on purpose.”

Amber’s demon-self looked back at her, and smiled.

“Oink, oink, little piggy,” said Brandon.