by K.B. Elijah
At first, I thought it was the real estate agent. Who else bothered to come onto the property but Sandy White, her box of cheap biscuits in one hand and annual lease documents in the other?
But Sandy was pink cardigans and curls, not this hunched figure that loomed in the shadows of the moonlit driveway. Why did the shape of its head angle so? Was it just a trick of the darkness that lent it a gaping hole instead of a mouth?
I switched on the headlights, preparing to laugh at myself.
But the thing was wearing my face.
K.B. Elijah writes for various international anthologies, and her work features in dozens of collections about the mysterious, the magical and the macabre. Her own book of short fantasy novellas with twists, The Empty Sky, is available on paperback and Kindle now: see her website at www.kbelijah.com.