way out

they’re coming through the windows torn curtains billowing in and out of the icy blackness, as they scrape in over the shards of glass like broken teeth in the mouth of the night outside to drop to the carpet amongst tv and window junk all torn and punctured and  bloody and wide jawed. they’re at the doors, rattling and shaking the handle and not giving a fuck that everyone can hear them. they’re upstairs, thundering at the floorboards with fists and feet and claws and knives, hacking their way towards you. they’re already inside you, working their way out

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