You tear your gaze away and shove the thing with all your strength, desperation fueling your movements.
It barely stumbles backwards.
Before you can react, it lunges with its grin still plastered across its face, eyes locked onto you with something animalistic. Hungry.
Cold fingers clamp around your wrist, an iron grip that sends a chill through your bones. With terrifying strength, it pushes you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. The walls of your own home, meant to protect you, now feel like a cage.
You thrash, twist, try to break free, but it only tightens its grip. It’s enjoying this. Your struggle. Your fear. Like it’s playing with its food.
An opening appears and you strike, landing a blow that sends it lurching backward. But instead of falling, its body folds.
Its feet remain planted, but its spine bends unnaturally, snapping into a grotesque, upside-down arch.
It doesn’t stop smiling.
You don’t wait to see what happens next. You run.