We crouched there, me and my sister, staring at each other in the TV's dim flickering light as a voice came through the letterbox - her voice came through the letterbox - begging to be let inside. I let her in about four hours ago when she lifted the letterbox and said she'd left her house keys on her desk as she's done a over dozen times already.
She seemed fine then.
She looked normal.
She was herself.
Until she was at the door again, claiming she'd been attacked by some doglike person who stole her face and suddenly the sister I let inside wasn't quite right. The inconsistencies I previously hadn't noticed now stared at me, mocking my blind trust while she looked just as frightened as I was.
Until my sister's voice was abruptly cut off.
Until her severed tongue was pushed through the letterbox.
Until I couldn't stop myself from screaming til my throat bled.
By then she was long gone, having opened the door and run out, giggling and chattering as a chorus of animal-like laughter and howls followed her down the street and out into the woods. I was frozen there til morning, shaking and gasping for breath as the rising sun steadily illuminated her broken body.
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