Chapter 2

I backed onto the balcony, clutching my phone so hard my knuckles hurt. My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my throat.

That thing in the living room had fully taken shape.

She stood there wearing my wife's pajamas, with my wife's hair, my wife's face. She looked exactly like Emily.

No, not exactly.

When she smiled, the corners of her mouth stretched way too far. A normal person's smile stops around the cheeks. Hers split all the way past her ears.

The thing walked toward me. "David, why did you run so far away?"

I found the balcony door, yanked it shut, and locked it.

She stopped on the other side of the glass and tilted her head at me.

"Open the door," she said.

I shook my head.

She tilted her head again, this time way too far. Far enough that her neck let out a sharp crack.

"Why not?"

I didn't answer. I picked up my phone and called Emily again.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

No answer.

"She's working late," the thing outside the glass door said. "She's busy. No time to answer you."

I called again.

Still no answer.

That thing pressed its face against the glass, flattening it until its nose practically disappeared, leaving only two eyes staring straight at me.

"David, open up. I am her."

I took a deep breath and asked, "What the hell are you?"

"I'm your wife."

"My wife is at the office."

"The one at the office," she said with a smile, the corners of her mouth stretching behind her ears again, "isn't me."

My head buzzed.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Open the door, and I'll tell you."

I didn't move.

She stared at me for a few seconds, then stepped back and began to change.

Her face stayed the same, still my wife's face, but her body changed. Something moved beneath her clothes, bulging again and again like countless snakes beneath her skin. The bulges grew until her pajamas ripped open.

Many hands reached through the tears: pale, red, or bluish, some hairy, some bare, some with long nails, others with none. They clawed at the air like newborn snakes.

Her face still looked like my wife's. She smiled.

"See? I have lots of hands. I can do all kinds of things for you: laundry, cooking, massages—"

She lifted one hand and dragged it across the glass.

Five deep white scratches.

This was shatter-resistant glass.

"And other things too."

My legs went weak. I stumbled back against the balcony railing and nearly tipped over it.

Right then, my phone rang.

I looked down. It was Emily.

"Hello?" My voice was shaking.

"David," my wife's voice came from the other end, but the background was a mess, full of chattering voices I couldn't make out. "Where are you?"

"I'm home," I said. "What about you?"

"I'm—" She hesitated. "I don't know where I am. The elevator stopped. There are so many people in here. It's packed."

A burst of harsh static tore through the line, and then the call dropped.

I looked up at the thing outside the glass door.

It wasn't smiling anymore.

"She got in the elevator?" it asked.

I didn't answer.

For the first time, a different expression appeared on my wife's borrowed face.

It looked like fear.