Molly knew something was wrong with her little sister after that bite from Mrs. Limo's cat.
At first, it was a fever—high and relentless. Then came the convulsions.And then… she attacked their mother.
It started with scratches. Then came the biting.
Molly had fled upstairs, locking herself inside the second-floor bathroom, as her mother's agonized screams echoed behind her—shredded by the milk-teeth of her youngest daughter, buried deep in her throat.
Through snippets of viral news and frantic social posts, Molly had pieced together what was happening.
Still, she told herself it would pass.She prayed it was just a hallucination.Maybe a relapse.Maybe the drugs were back.
But deep down, she knew better.It had been almost a year since she quit that hell.
This was real.
"Molly… help me…"Her mother's voice rang out in her memory—raw, breaking, burned into her heart like a brand. The screams haunted her, twisted and helpless. The guilt wrapped around her chest like chains, dragging her soul straight into hell.
On the black marble sink sat rows of beauty products—lotions, toothbrushes, bottles lined up like tiny soldiers. Among them: her mother's bottle of sedatives.
She didn't know how long she'd been staring at it.
Over and over, she saw herself downing the pills—chasing them with bleach.
The image played in her mind again and again…
Until two gunshots snapped her back to reality.
Bang. Bang.
She flinched, both hands clamping over her ears.
...Someone's in the house.
Her eyes widened. Her heart pounded like it wanted to burst from her chest.
She covered her mouth, tried to silence the ragged breaths that shook with fear.
...They have guns...She thought of the armed looters. The ones from the news. The ones who didn't leave witnesses.
Wait… was that a woman's voice?Her brows knitted.She pressed her ear to the door, listening.
Yes. Voices. One of them sounded like a girl.
Molly exhaled slowly.Relief—brief and shaky.At least if there was a woman, then maybe it wasn't the Amoon gang.
She sat, still as a statue, on the toilet seat, waiting for the voices to fade.
When silence returned, she decided they must have left.
She stood up.
Dizziness hit her hard. She stumbled, smacking into the bathroom door.Fortunately, it was just cheap plastic—it flexed with the impact.
"Shit," she hissed, rubbing her shoulder.
The house was quiet.Too quiet.
No more screams.No more chewing sounds like insects writhing in her ears.Just… footsteps.
Coming up the stairs.
The tension in the air clawed at her skin.It was the kind of silence that felt sharp—like a needle in the heart.
He might kill me...Or worse.
That thought made her tremble.
But there's a girl with him…That gave her pause.
Molly held her breath, willing her shaking head to look toward the door—left slightly ajar from her earlier stumble.
Through the narrow opening, she saw him.
A man. Gun raised.
But his eyes…They weren't as cold as she expected.
There was something human there.
For a moment, she froze.
Then, mustering what courage she had left, Molly reached for the doorknob with trembling fingers.