I try to go after him. I think I know him. Maybe he can tell me what’s going on here. Beyond the hallway there is a living room with a single couch. Someone is sleeping on it. It’s completely dark in here except for something glowing — a pillow under the sleeper’s head, I believe? Or maybe it’s a folded-up towel. I can’t tell. But it’s emitting enough light for me to see there is someone sleeping there. I go over and place a gentle hand on the person’s shoulder. I think it’s my mother. “Mom?” I ask. “Where’s Bully?”

My mother moves in her sleep. “She’s dead,” she mumbles. Her voice is strangely deep. “Bully is dead. And Zaniel is dead. And Cybelle — she’s dead, too.” She giggles. It’s a deep, inhuman chuckling sound. It’s awful. I shake her harder; maybe I can wake her up and save her. The harder I shake her, the louder and higher she laughs. It’s a squeaking, high-pitched laugh now. Like that boy’s wagon.

“Leave my mother alone,” I shout. No. Whatever this thing is, it’s not my mother. It’s something possessing her, making her say these horrible things. I yank the glowing pillow out from under her head and try to smother her laughter, but it only gets louder, ringing in my ears.

“That won’t wo-ork,” sings the pillow.

I drop the pillow and run out of the living room. Down the little hallway. It’s so dark I trip over that kid I saw earlier, curled up in a ball on the floor. “What are you doing?!” I ask him. “We have to get out of here!” I scoop him up without thinking and run. Out the front door. Out of the house. Running down my foggy street, I can still hear the demon laughter. “Fuck off!” I cry, clapping my hands over my ears. Wait. What happened to that little boy? He’s gone.

Maybe I shouldn’t have left the house. Maybe that was my mother. I run back, try to get inside. The front door is locked. The demon laughter grows louder. It’s a man’s laugh now. It rattles the windows and bangs the front door. I clap my hands over my ears as I scream and cry, half of me hoping it will drown out the sound. Hoping that the demon can’t hurt me if I can’t hear it. It doesn’t work. It’s all around me, it’s even inside my head.

Then I hear a long, tea-kettle scream. It takes a while for it to register that it’s me.

“Ima okina-EE-to, okurema-SOO, yo …”