She stopped quickly, arms at her sides, but didn’t turn around. I had to catch my feet on the sidewalk to stop my momentum. The soles of my feet screamed in protest. I lurched forward, arms outstretched. She stepped back, and I fell on the sidewalk in front of her, palms scraping the pavement. Realizing she was just above me, close enough to strike, I pushed myself up. My palms were dirty and covered in scratches.

My shoulders started shaking in fear as I looked at her. Her eyes were all black, hollow. Her face held no expression.

Soulless.

I pressed my injured palms to my stomach. “Liz.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Liz?”

Her expression didn’t change.

“It’s me, Amy. Your friend? We just want to help you, Liz. We know you’re in there somewhere.” I didn’t dare take a step toward her, but I saw a flash of recognition in her eyes. Somewhere, somehow, Liz had heard me. “Tell us how to help you, please.”

Still, nothing. And I wasn’t brave enough to go closer, to put a hand on her, even though that might get through to her.

“Mavis.” The name escaped my lips before I could stop it.

Her eyes seemed to widen, become almost reptilian. And then she smiled, looking me up and down. One of her hands moved from her side, sliding upward on her back as her elbow bent. She was pulling something out from the low back of her dress.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, so I waited to see what she would do next. In the distance, I heard a crackle and a yell from the direction of Melissa’s house.

My name, being shouted from Melissa’s house, by Jess and Melissa. Her smart doorbell app, controlled from her phone, flashed and blinked as the words came out of the speaker. Her phone must have notified her when it sensed motion in front of the house. It was supposed to be used to tell people to come back later, to send away the siding companies who tried to get you to commit insurance fraud by making a hail-damage claim, or the mosquito companies who tried to lock people into a two-year contract.

But this time, it said: “Amy, run! Run now!”

At the same time, I saw what Liz was reaching for. Out of the back of her dress, she had pulled a knife. She calmly held it down by her side. A threat. A warning. And then she pressed the tip of it to her decaying hand, and a thin trickle of black blood ran down her finger.

I turned and sprinted home, rounding the corner. Too terrified to look back to see if she was following me, I pumped my arms hard, ignoring the lingering ache from the burn mark, ignoring the stinging of my palms, my aching feet.