When The Dead Come Knocking

a blanket, the Macy' s Parade playing to an empty house. My mom an

answered, terrified, and a thin, distorted vo

bags. They acted normal, but their movements were jerky, their eyes ho

strange concoction, a glass of cider or eggnog

so unnerving? Were they trying to hurt me

aled the impossible truth: the reflection wasn't mine. It was the face of the boy