Chapter 4My Mother Came Back… The Day I Identified the Dead

Over the next three days, the air in the apartment grew so thick it was hard to breathe.

I took a temporary leave of absence from the hospital, staying home to watch over her.

My mother's condition was deteriorating rapidly. The high-collared blouse could no longer hide the dark lividity spreading up her neck. The lavender perfume she sprayed was losing the battle against the heavy, sweet scent of rot.

Her movements grew slower with each passing hour. Sometimes when she was chopping vegetables, her knife would sink into the cutting board, and she would freeze for several seconds before she could pull it back out.

Yet she stubbornly insisted on doing all the chores. Every single night, she would drag a small wooden stool over and sit directly behind the front door, acting as a silent, unyielding sentry until dawn.

I never called her out on it.

Instead, I bought several tubes of heavy-duty pain creams and anti-inflammatory ointments. Every night, under the pretense of treating her arthritis, I would gently rub them into her rigid, unfeeling joints.

When my fingers touched her cold, stiff skin, neither of us said a word. Only her shallow, dry breathing filled the quiet room.

On the evening of the third day, a massive storm rolled in.

Thunder rumbled deep within the black clouds, and with the lights off, the living room felt as dark as midnight. My mother was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I sat on the couch, staring anxiously out at the sheets of rain.

Crash!

A loud shatter echoed from the kitchen.

My heart leaped into my throat, and I ran inside.

My mother was standing helplessly by the sink, a shattered glass jar of spices scattered around her feet. Her right hand was frozen in midair, a deep, jagged cut running from the center of her palm all the way down her wrist.

"Mom! Don't move!"

I rushed over, grabbing her hand.

The gash was deep, the flesh gaping wide. But to my horror, not a single drop of blood leaked out. Deep inside the wound, I could only see pale, bloodless connective tissue and dull, graying muscle fibers.

Terrified, she snatched her hand back, frantically shoving it down her sleeve.

"I-I'm fine... the glass was just slippery. I didn't hold it right."

"It doesn't hurt. Really, it doesn't hurt at all..."

She rambled, her eyes darting away as tears began to fall again.

"I told you to rest!" I yelled, my emotions finally snapping.

She flinched at my tone, her eyes wide with fear as she shrank into the corner of the kitchen.

Just then, my phone on the living room coffee table rang. The loud, shrill sound cut through the noise of the thunderstorm like a knife.

I took a deep breath, walked back to the living room, and picked it up.

It was Detective Carter.

"Dr. Brooks," Carter's voice was tight, nearly drowned out by the sound of sirens and heavy rain on his end. "We just reviewed the highway traffic cameras from the night of the crash, and we found something that defies all logic."

"What is it?"

"The crash occurred on a remote stretch of road with no witnesses, but we expanded our search radius. On a state route camera a few miles away, we spotted a man walking."

Carter paused, taking a shaky breath.

"Dr. Brooks, the man on the camera... his body is covered in severe, full-body burn scars. He looks like a walking charred corpse."

My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe.

"But that's not the worst of it," Carter whispered, his voice trembling with sheer terror. "On the footage, the man is walking directly toward your city. And about twenty yards behind him... a woman is following him. Her gait is completely stiff, and her clothes are soaked in blood from the crash."

"We just pulled the security footage from your apartment building from three nights ago..."

Carter let out a sharp gasp.

"The camera shows that same woman walking into your building. Dr. Brooks... are you absolutely sure you're alone in that apartment right now?!"

Boom!

A blinding flash of lightning lit up the living room, followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder.

My phone slipped from my fingers, landing softly on the carpet.

I slowly turned around.

The woman I called Mom was standing by the kitchen door. She was completely backlit, her face masked in deep, impenetrable shadow.

And then, a violent, earth-shattering blow struck our heavy front door.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The entire frame rattled. From the other side came a raw, raspy voice that sounded like wind scraping through a burnt, hollow pipe:

"Open the door! I know you're in there! Open the damn door!"

The monster was standing right outside.