Tiny faces. Shy smiles on tiny faces. Sharp claws protrude from tiny hands on bodies that emerge at twilight. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
You\u2019ll know it\u2019s time when the letter arrives. Look out for a messenger who travels across the half-lit valley. You\u2019ll be living in a farmhouse, stone divided into quarters by broken windows. That\u2019s where tiny faces, fogging glass, will watch you from the gloaming. How they’ll smile so shyly when they see you burn the letter. In a cursive hand it will say that someone knows what you did to Susan. Sharp knife on tiny throat. Mouth twisted into grinning rigor mortis. Don\u2019t ask me what will happen to Susan. I won\u2019t be there. I do not smile shyly in the dying light of day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Slippery dreams that smell of sweat and whiskey and fog on the hills.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You\u2019re going to ask me what comes next. I\u2019ll tell you, but I\u2019m not sure you want to know. They\u2019ll scratch on the window with those sharp claws. Then, one by one, they\u2019ll slither through the broken pane. A viscous trail over half-drunk bottles. You won\u2019t stop them, you\u2019ll think; how shy, how tiny, until they get closer and you see it. There\u2019s going to be a sour feeling rising from the depths of your gut. On their skulls they\u2019ll wear wigs made from Susan\u2019s pale hair, matted with her blood. They\u2019ll speak in her voice, divided into many. Please stop hurting me<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Wriggling, squelching, clawing forward. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Oh, that\u2019s when you\u2019ll know the prickings are about to begin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n _____<\/p>\n\n\n\n R.L. Summerling is a writer from South East London. In her free time she enjoys befriending crows in Nunhead Cemetery. She has stories in<\/em> Seize The Press, Interzone, Northern Gravy and more. You can find her at rlsummerling.com<\/a> and on Twitter @RLSummerling<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"