⋅•⋅⊰∙∘❦✾❦∘∙⊱⋅•
Xander stayed on the floor, palms pressed to the carpet like it might anchor him. His arms shook from more than pain now and cold sweat beaded along his spine as he couldn't do more than stare at this monstrousity.
On the bright side, he can boldly state that he'd seen a zombie and a haunted house in real life, so that was a plus...right?
Who was he kidding? No one would believe him in his original world.
The thing that looked like his father stood a few feet away, blood still dripping from the knife clutched in his crusty grey hand and the knife caught the light of the flickering lamp and cast streaks of red reflections across the wall.
"You've been lying to yourself all these years," it said—his father's voice, but wrong somehow too calm. Too slow. Like someone pressing play on a recording with sticky fingers. "Saying that you did it for your mother...but I'm reality, you just wanted me gone."
