The monster oozes from the closet, slinks past Tim’s bed to Jon’s. It pulses wetly. Jon sobs, “No, Timmy!” It writhes, slurps. Tim smiles.
Amy felt them wiggle; ripping at her insides. Doctors examined, but found nothing. With her knife, she began digging them out herself.
“The floor is lava!” the boys cheer, leaping on couches. A single smirk; a spell softly spoken. Child-bearing chairs ooze into the eruption.
She turned the key; the lock clicked in to place. Ascending the stairs, she savored his muffled screams. “The wedding will be beautiful.”
Jen sings in the shower. Talons click closer. Unseen breath shudders the curtain. She shuts the spray. Hears dripping. Not water. Saliva.