“Claire, it’s your mother,” the voice rang out, tinny and jarring, from her phone. “Wanted to see if you want roast or spaghetti this Sunday. I can do either. Let me know. Love you. Bye.”

Tearing her attention from the mirror, she gave her phone a peculiar look—as though it held answers to the strangeness of that message.

Like clockwork, she ate dinner at her parents’ house every Sunday, and although her mother often checked to see what she preferred to eat, she had never called in the middle of a Friday night to verify. Shrugging, she returned to scrutinize her face, at last pinpointing the difference.

Her eyes. They weren’t the same mousy brown that looked back at her every day. They were silver. No light blue or grayish blue either. Silver. A startling silver, reminiscent of ice… and something else. Something familiar. Something recent. A memory niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite touch it.

Her fingers lightly grazed her cheekbone just below those strange eyes. Could drugs alter one’s eye color? Was this some sort of allergic reaction to the codeine? Or the tetanus shot?

She played her next voicemail and Maggie’s voice blared from her phone, penetrating her racing thoughts. Kids whooped and screamed in the background. “Just checking in. Call me if you get around to it. See you tomorrow…”

Why would Maggie think she was going to see her today? On Saturday? Shaking her head, Claire grabbed her remote control off the dresser and flipped on the television, clicking through channels until she found the local news. A human Barbie doll reported the early morning weather in cheery, singsong tones.

“Looks like it’s going to be a gorgeous day today. A great way to begin the week. Maybe it will make those headed-back-to-work-Monday blues easier…”

The remote control slipped from her suddenly slack fingers and thudded to the carpet. She backed up, sinking onto the bed as realization washed over her.

She had slept two nights. As impossible as it seemed, it was four fifteen Monday morning.

“No one can sleep that long,” she whispered over the drone of yet another message from her mother.

She jumped up and rushed back to the mirror, gripping her hands around the edge of her sink until her knuckles turned white. Inhaling through her nostrils, she lifted her face and met her gaze dead on. It was like looking at a stranger. Those eyes chilled her.

“What the hell’s going on?” she demanded of her reflection.

The last thing she expected was an answer.

“You’re one of them now,” a gravelly voice said.

She spun around, a scream lodged in her throat as she peered into the far corners of her room, searching for the owner of that voice.

He was a shadow. A large, motionless form occupying her wicker chair—presumably where he’d been sitting since the minute she awoke.