Her face was transitioning before Desdemona’s very eyes. It was as if her flesh and the skull that braced it had become clay for eager and unseen hands. Muscles and arches and contours now existed for merely a blink before becoming hurriedly transfigured into some new and outlandish composition. Eyes sagged and then lifted. Lips that were plumped like those of a lover awaiting the union of a sacred kiss were suddenly pulled keen across the gums, giving Mother the appearance of an animal about to pounce on its quarry.

Desdemona ran; ran with a momentum she’d never before known. By now Celeste’s insatiably curious nature had bested her ability to obey: she was staring out over Desdemona’s shoulder, staring at What-Had-Been-Mother that was hunting them. Celeste began to scream and sob. Her little body quaked in Desdemona’s arms, which seemed to double her weight. By the time the sisters stumbled into the rear entrance of the great house Desdemona’s head was swimming.

Petrified that she might lose her grip on Celeste, Desdemona loped ahead, through the scullery and the kitchen where Mother’s tea kettle sat wailing on the stove.

The spiral staircase was nearly insurmountable. Halfway up, Desdemona’s legs gave out. She released Celeste with a whimper and shouted for her to run.

The Mother abomination came thundering into the foyer. She halted at the foot of the stairs, and for one magnificent moment Desdemona thought they might be safe.

She was studying the steps, assessing them like an animal seeing such a structure for the first time.

‘Can this thing, whatever it is, even climb stairs?’ Desdemona wondered, or rather wished.

The creature threw itself prostrate on the foyer floor and plunged one of its swords into the bottom step. The second blade was stabbed into a higher stair. Using her weapons as braces, the Mother of Swords began to pull her twitching body up the stairs.

Desdemona shrieked and tore up the last few stairs. The terrible thunk-thunk-thunk sound of What-Had-Been-Mother stabbing the steps resounded through the great open foyer.

“This way, Desi! Over here!”

Celeste was in the master bedroom, her body half-concealed behind the ornate door. Desdemona dove through the open frame and kicked the door closed. She scrambled to her feet and leapt to one end of Mother’s large dresser.

“Help me push!” she pleaded.

Celeste offered what little strength she possessed. Panic gave Desdemona strength enough for the two of them.

The dresser became a barricade, though Desdemona was wise enough to know that this was far from enough to protect them.

She flung the dresser’s drawers open and rifled through Mother’s belongings. She found the crushed velvet pouch, tugged its drawstring loose and shook the Tarot deck out onto the Persian rug. The sisters sifted through the scattered cards.