Page 148 of Devil Inside

Josie steps back from herself—from her own reflection inthe bathroom mirror—a full stride away from the sink, toothbrush clattering across its basin. Her breath catches in her chest, throat clenched, gasping at the same time, so it all makes some garbled choke.

She knows she made a sound. So why hasn’t her reflection followed? Why doesn’t the mirror image of herself replicate her startled expression—wide open eyes, dropped jaw, flushed cheeks?

Why does the Josie in the mirror keep smiling back at her, never once blinking?

My turn,Josie says.

But which one?

“Did you say something?” Lucas asks.

But Natasha is already out cold. Her body has slackened against the mattress, absorbed into some amorphous shape within the shadows. He can hear the faint purl of her breath.

Natasha’s snores are so damn endearing. A babbling brook. There are those nights when Lucas will simply listen to her sleep, feeling at peace with the gentle catch of her breath.

He nestles up behind her, assuming the spooning position, like every other time, settling in for a night of listening to Natasha sleep, eventually drifting off himself.

So whose breath is spreading down the back of his neck?

Don’t mind me.

Mom keeps repeating the same word. She’s fumbled over the same sentence a couple times now. Kimmie doesn’t know if she should say anything about it. Make her mad.

Mom’s just tired. This happens at bedtime, sometimes. She’ll tuck Kimmie in, crack open a picture book, start reading, but the deeper into the story she goes, Mom will start to drift. Kimmie’s caught her mother with her eyes closed, dozing between sentences.

“Wake up,” she’ll say, prodding her mom with her elbow. “You fell asleep.”

“Sorry,” Mom will always say, doubling back a couple pages. “Where was I?”

Tonight feels different, though.Momfeels different. Her words are slurred. She’s mumbling things that don’t feel like they’re a part of the story. Awful things. Scary things.

In this story, little girls get eaten. By their mommies.

There’s nowhere Kimmie can go but under the covers, slipping deeper into the crawlspace between her blanket and bed, hiding in that dark pocket. Her mother is still sitting next to her, just on the other side of the bedspread, her rump pinning the blanket against the mattress.

Mom’s still telling her bedtime story. Not reading it. Those words are definitely not coming from the book in her hand, not anymore. No, these are new words now. A whole new story.

And then she cracked open the little girl’s femur and slurped the fresh marrow, the succulent butter within the bone, so yummy in mummy’s tummy...

Kimmie presses her palms against her ears, hoping to block the story from creeping in, but even then, she can hear the vague whisper of the words seep through the sheets.

So yummy in mummy’s tummy, so yummy in mummy’s tummy, so yummy...

Get them out, Craig thinks. He has to force the voices back, even to muster that much.Get them out of my head. Please. Make them stop make them stop make them...

There’s just been too much. The migraines have grown into a downright din in his skull. All speaking at once. He can’t concentrate. Can’t think. Can’t live like this.

He’s always been prone to headaches, but today’s is by far the worst. Like an ice pick between his eyes, directly through the temples.

They are words. Words like worms whittle into his skin, burrowing into his brain. They are sinking as deep into the soft tissue as they can, all of them saying the same thing:

Minenowmine now you’re all mine...

Craig’s practically chewed through a whole bottle of Tylenol. Still nothing. The pain won’t go away. The voices haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve only gotten louder. Clearer.

Mine now. You’re all mine. Mine, mine, mine...

He could go to the doctor, but what would that do? He needs helpnow. Needs to get the voices out of his headnow. Release the pressure, somehow. Stop the pain before—