The whisperer can only watch. Even before the whisper continues, I know what I need to do.

Cybelle — RUN.

Summoning what little strength I have, I concentrate, shunting it down my body. It hurts to move. But I have to. My right foot shoots out behind and drives hard into the man’s groin. He lets out a high-pitched cry as he crumples to the floor, holding himself in his hands.

“Ow! Fuck! Why do you keep kickin’ me in the crotch?!”

My only reply is with my other foot, driving right into the giant man’s face, knocking him to the floor. Sobbing, coughing, still unable to see, I stumble-run down the hallway for my life. I run blindly down the twists and turns, slipping several times and banging against the walls, down a long flight of stairs to where I see a door — a regular push-and-pull door with a knob.

With a last burst of speed, I launch myself forward and go right through it.

“Ima okina-EE-to, okurema-SOO, yo …”

I flail upright in my bed. Thank God, it was only a nightmare. I collapse back down onto my pillow and give it a good, tight squeeze. Then I stop, remembering the feeling around my throat. I touch my neck. It even feels tender. I wonder if there’s a bruise. No, that would be ridiculous. It was just a dream. A vivid, bizarre, fucked-up dream.

“Cybelle!” I hear my name. “Breakfast!”

Downstairs in the dining room, everyone is already seated and digging in. I take the seat next to Bully in front of a short stack drowning in maple syrup and topped with a pat of butter. “Look what the cat dragged in,” my twin sisters snicker.

I ignore them, clapping my hands together. “Yum. Thanks, Mom.”

“Hey,” Dad chides me. “I helped with the bacon.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Itadakimasu!”

“We’re not in Japan,” Bully snaps at me. “Just eat, already. We’re going to be late, thanks to you.”

“Late? For what?”

Bully slams her fists on the dining table. “She forgot about the wedding. Mo-om, Da-ad, Cybelle forgot about my wedding!”

Mom ignores her. “Cybelle, eat fast or we’re going to be late. We don’t have time for jokes today.”

I pick up my fork and knife to start hacking away. “I didn’t forget. It’s just that … well, I should tell you. I just had the most horrifying dream. I was —” I look up from my forkful of pancakes. There’s something in the kitchen window. “What the hell is that?”

No one seems to hear me. They go on, chatting with one another. Something scratches at the window. It disappears from sight, reappearing at the back door. It’s a giant boar. Somehow, someway, it manages to wedge its thick, massive snout into the aluminum side between the door and the kitchen wall. It pushes through the crack, and the door begins to slide open.

It’s coming inside.