Chapter 1Three Days to Stay Human

We got caught in a sudden downpour during our weekend getaway. By the time we finally made it back to the hotel, my best friend was already shivering and complaining.

"I swear my brain is completely waterlogged," Polly grumbled, tossing her damp jacket onto the armchair. "Who in their right mind decides to go sightseeing in a storm like this?"

"Then why don't you just pour the water out?" I replied absentmindedly, throwing our room key onto the dresser.

Polly paused and nodded seriously. Tilting her head to the side, she began wiggling her finger deep inside her ear canal, wincing slightly as if she were actually trying to drain her skull.

I smiled, waiting for the punchline. But in the next second, my heart skipped a beat.

A thick, steady stream of liquid began to pour from her ear. It wasn’t just a few stray droplets—it was a heavy, rushing flow. And it wasn’t clear. It was a dark, sickly crimson, thick with the unmistakable scent of copper. Blood.

My eyes stretched wide, a cold knot of terror tightening in my chest. "Polly... what... what are you doing?"

Polly stared straight at me, her eyes completely blank, though a flicker of mild confusion crossed her face.

"What's wrong, babe?" she asked, her voice perfectly casual. "We got absolutely soaked out there. Aren't you going to drain yours?"

* * *

I stood frozen, barely two feet away from Polly.

I could only watch in mute horror as the bloody water continued to cascade from her ear like a miniature, grotesque fountain, pooling onto the cheap carpet. Yet, she didn't show even a flicker of discomfort.

In fact, she looked at me with genuine, helpful encouragement, as if emptying a pint of bloody fluid from your skull was as routine as brushing your teeth.

"What are you waiting for?" Polly nudged, tilting her head the other way. Another splash of crimson sloshed out, splattering onto the floorboards. "Doesn't it feel heavy in there?"

Every instinct in my body screamed that the thing standing in front of me was not human. I dug my fingernails deep into my palms, the sharp sting of pain anchoring me to reality. I forced my lips to stretch into a tight, artificial smile.

"I... I had my umbrella up most of the time," I stammered. "My head actually feels fine. I don't think there's any water in there."

It was just the two of us in this cramped hotel room. If she—if it—realized I was different, I had no idea what would happen. I had to play along.

She shrugged, seemingly satisfied with my answer, and climbed onto the king-sized bed. Within seconds, she was scrolling through TikTok. When a video of a shirtless fitness influencer popped up, she gasped and giggled, turning the screen toward me just like she always did.

"Oh my god, Mandy, look at those abs," she sighed, shaking her head. "If I ever strike it rich, I'm buying a dozen of him."

In that moment, she was entirely normal. She was the same girl I’d grown up with, the hopeless romantic, the dork who shared her fries and her deepest secrets. I swallowed the lump in my throat, carefully sitting on the very edge of the mattress.

"Hey, Polly? I'm kind of starving. I was thinking of ordering some oyster chowder from the place downstairs. Do you want some?"

Polly immediately dropped her phone, her eyes narrowing in irritation. "Are you serious, Mandy? You know I have a massive shellfish allergy. Your family literally sent me to the ER for a week when we were kids because of those lobster rolls! How could you forget that?"

I mumbled a frantic apology, but my mind was spinning out of control.

This thing had Polly's memories. It had her exact personality, her history, her outrage. What was it? Was I losing my mind? Was the bloody puddle on the floor just a stress-induced hallucination?

No. The dark, copper-scented stain was still there, slowly soaking into the beige fibers of the hotel carpet. It was entirely real.

I waited until Polly was distracted by another video, then grabbed an empty plastic water bottle from the nightstand. I knelt down, scooped a sample of the bloody water into it, and made a quick excuse. "I'm just going to run down to the lobby and grab a soda from the vending machine."

The moment the elevator doors closed, I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and dialed 911.

"There's something wrong... my friend, she's not herself. I think she's been replaced. Someone hurt her..."

The dispatcher told me officers would arrive in ten minutes. I couldn't bear the thought of going back up to the room, so I shrank into one of the plush velvet armchairs in the lobby, shivering.

The middle-aged receptionist, a woman named Marsha, noticed my pale face and walked over. "Are you alright, dear? Do you need some help?"

I nodded quickly, holding up the plastic bottle. I wanted her to look at it, to validate that it was indeed blood, to tell me I wasn't crazy. But before I could utter a single word, Marsha reached out, took the bottle from my hand, unscrewed the cap, and drank it.