Horror Nights
For a second, Martha saw something in those newborn eyes—a flash of recognition, a familiar spark of defiance that belonged to a girl who had died ten years ago.
"Hello, Chloe," Martha whispered, pressing a bloody kiss to the infant's forehead. "I told you I'd bring you home."
Behind her, the shadows of the kitchen seemed to stretch and lean in, as if the house itself was exhaling a long-held breath. The horror wasn't in the death, but in the return. Martha walked toward the nursery she had kept perfectly preserved for a decade, her footsteps steady, leaving a trail of dark red prints on the linoleum.
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