26 Flicker and Fade

The television cast a soft, flickering glow across the living room. On-screen, Spider-Man 3 played—an old favourite, in HD, but comforting.

Chris lounged on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, while Rebecca curled beside him. Luke, nestled between them with a blanket pulled up to his chin, yawned loudly and stretched.

“I’m tired,” he mumbled, blinking at the screen.

Chris looked down at him and smiled. “Alright, sport. Time for bed.”

Luke sat up and gave each of them a goodnight kiss. Rebecca gently rubbed his arm as he rose from the couch.

“Go check on your brother before you crash, alright?” she said softly.

Luke nodded. “He’s probably already in bed. Goodnight.”

“Night, kiddo!” Chris called after him.

As Luke padded out of the room, Chris chuckled. “Kids these days.”

Rebecca glanced at her watch, frowning slightly. “Speaking of kids… where are Scott and Faith?”

Chris hesitated. “Don’t know.”

“I’ll give them a call—”

“Leave them be,” Chris said quickly. “They’re not as young as they used to be. Probably just needed some space.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, suspicious but not pushing it. Chris leaned closer.

“Besides,” he said with a grin, “I want to spend some time with my girl.”

He reached for her and started tickling her sides.

“Chris! Stop that!” she laughed, squirming.

“You know you love it,” he said, pulling her closer.

Rebecca couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”

They kissed, slow and teasing, their worries momentarily forgotten.

The kitchen was bathed in the warm glow of overhead lights as Louisa and Erica worked side by side. The air was thick with the scent of melted cheese and toasted bread.

Louisa stood over the bench, watching the toaster. Her distorted reflection flickered across the chrome surface, warping and twisting as the coils began to glow.

With a cheerful pop, the toast sprang up.

“Here you go, Erica,” Louisa said proudly, plating the steaming snacks. “My famous grilled-cheese mini pizzas!”

Erica raised a brow. “What is this?”

“Everything a growing girl needs,” Louisa said with a wink. “Capsicum, tomato, and just a hint of hot spices.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. I love it spicy. Real hot. Can you handle it?”

Erica smirked. “Yeah, of course I can.”

Louisa grinned and took a bite.

Erica followed suit, chewing as her eyes drifted toward the toaster.

There—in the warped reflection—something stared back.

Her own face, twisted. Hollow eyes. Blackened veins. A grin not her own.

Erica blinked and shook her head.

“Something wrong?” Louisa asked.

Erica coughed. “Yeah… fine,” she said hoarsely. “Didn’t expect it to be so hot…”

She forced a smile and took another bite—too big.

Then her body seized.

She collapsed sideways onto the tiled floor, plate shattering.

“Erica!” Louisa screamed, dropping to her knees. “Someone get in here!”

Chris and Rebecca burst through the door.

“What happened?” Chris demanded.

He dropped to his knees beside Erica. “Beck, she’s convulsing!”

Rebecca checked her pulse and leaned close to Erica’s face. “Her breathing’s shallow. She’s not getting enough air. We need to take her to the hospital—now.”

Chris didn’t hesitate. He scooped Erica up, her limbs limp and trembling. Rebecca opened the door, clearing the way.

Behind them, the toaster hummed.

In its chrome face, something watched them flee.

It grinned.

Luke tiptoed into the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. The glow from the hallway stretched across the floor, casting long shadows on the wooden boards.

He glanced toward the beds and spotted a familiar shape beneath the covers—a lump in the darkness. Still. Silent.

“Typical,” he mumbled, assuming Philip had already passed out for the night.

Yawning, Luke peeled off his clothes, pulled on his pyjamas, and slipped under his own blankets.

“You missed Spider-Man,” he muttered into the dark.

A low, guttural grumble answered from the other bed.

Luke frowned, momentarily alert. “Okay, suit yourself.”

He reached out and flicked off the lamp.

Darkness fell.

The silence that followed was thick, almost buzzing.

Then—two red eyes opened above Philip’s bed.

They glowed. Faint at first. Unmoving. Watching.

Luke stirred beneath his blanket but didn’t notice.

Then came the sound.

A wet, tearing rip.

Fabric shredded. Springs creaked. Then a snarl—low, guttural, hungry.

Luke sat up, confused.

“Phil?” he whispered.

A shape rose from the bed across the room—wrong in its proportions, hunched and twitching, claws dragging across the sheets.

Then came the scream.

Luke’s scream—cut short.

The thing lunged, dragging him off the bed in a violent blur of motion.

Sheets tangled. The mattress flipped. A bedside lamp crashed to the floor.

The demon had waited patiently, hidden beneath the mundane, behind the familiar.

And now, it fed.