Have you ever been inside another living thing?

  No, not like that, you perv. And no, not the months before your birth—those don’t count. I mean, your post-birth body, fully enveloped by the flesh of another living thing.

  I have.

  Would not recommend.

  I wasn’t expecting the room to have teeth. Or a tongue. I also wasn’t expecting the sweet little old lady to rise off the floor—still attached to it—and wrap around me like a snake.

  Luckily, I was wearing one of the cheap silver necklaces I’d bought. A cross, just to be safe. I heard something sizzle as it wrapped around my neck. That gave me just enough room to bolt.

  “What the hell is that?!” Orson shouted.

  “It’s a mimic!” I yelled back. “And we need to skedaddle. Lickety-split!”

  I don’t know if it was the fake old lady or pure terror, but my vocabulary went real old-timey all of a sudden.

  The hallway pulsed as I ran. The walls flexed, closing in. Orson flew ahead of me. I barely made it out before the hall collapsed behind me, pinching shut like an anus finishing its business.

  I turned, and the couch opened.

  Cushions peeled back, revealing rows of teeth and a slimy tongue.

  “Oh, great heavens!”

  I sprinted. The kitchenette was right there. Feet away. I briefly wondered if the cookies were real and immediately decided that was the wrong priority. Obviously, I had more pressing concerns.

  Orson flew through the door. I didn’t make it.

  The microwave jumped in front of me.

  Same deal. Teeth. Tongue. Hungry for my delicious flesh.

  It was in a momma, and it was housing its starving babies.

  I stopped, reached into my backpack, and pulled out two more necklaces. I’d bought multiples because I wasn’t sure how much silver plating would do the trick.

  Works fine, by the way.

  The couch and microwave halted, snarling. Then came the toaster. The TV. The end table.

  From the kitchen, a cookie jar puffed out a soft cloud of greenish gas. The smell hit me again—fresh cookies, stronger this time.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  That’s when it dawned on me.

  I WAS SNIFFING FARTS THE ENTIRE TIME!

  I don’t like to admit it, but you deserve to know.

  I backed up toward the door.

  It wouldn’t open.

  That’s when I realized I was dead. I took comfort in the fact that I already had a dead best friend and established living arrangements. So really, I was dying on third base.

  I pressed the necklaces against the mother mimic’s flesh. A small tear opened in the door. Heat spilled in.

  It screamed.

  Then the babies screamed.

  While I was covering my ears, the microwave lunged and bit at me, ripping the necklaces from my hands. It tossed the necklaces up, then caught them in its mouth, swallowing them whole.

  It whined.

  Trembled.

  I heard bubbling—at which point I should have started breathing through my nose—before it shrank. Smaller and smaller.

  Then it exploded.

  Microwave guts coated my face. Some got in my mouth. It tasted like burnt popcorn.

  I spat violently.

  When I wiped my face clean, I looked up to find the other babies were going to town on their sibling. Just full-on slurping guts off the walls and floor.

  I had an idea.

  I scraped as many microwave chunks as I could into my arms. Off the walls. Off myself. Honestly, I did a pretty decent job cleaning up.

  Then the babies finished.

  And momma’s tongue wrapped around my ankle.

  She yanked.

  I fell. The chunks scattered, but I held onto two. As she dragged me back, I watched the babies dive for the rest.

  I should’ve dropped the chunks and grabbed something solid.

  I panicked.

  She lifted me into the air and dangled me there. I don’t know if she laughed, but it felt like she was enjoying this.

  The babies were coming. The end table first. Then the toaster. The sofa got stuck in the hallway.

  Good. Idiot.

  I dropped the chunks and grabbed my cross necklace. I don’t believe in God, but I was staring into the deepest throat I’d ever seen, so I hedged my bets.

  Momma threw me out of the room and wailed, then started making a noise like it was going to vomit.

  I felt something grab my arm.

  The TV.

  It had climbed over the sofa and was pulling me toward it with its tongue. I yanked back. It stopped pulling and charged instead, scuttling on tiny TV legs.

  Honestly? Kinda cute.

  I pressed the necklace against its tongue. It let go, and I body slammed it. I shoved the necklace into its mouth.

  Bile had begun to bubble up out of momma’s mouth, but no babies came up with it. She kept on heaving, though. I picked up the T.V. and tossed it into the mouth with its siblings.

  No sense in sticking around, I ran to the door.

  I vaulted the couch, got to the front door, tore the opening wider, and forced myself through. I didn’t see it—because I was doing it—but I imagine it looked a lot like that rhino scene from Ace Ventura 2.

  I rolled onto the lawn, stood up, and yelled, “Ha!”

  “So,” Orson said, “what happened in there?”

  “You’d know if you’d stuck around.”

  “It’s not like I could’ve helped.”

  The house folded in on itself. Neighbors came outside.

  “Sinkhole!” I shouted. “Call 9-1-1!”

  Then we ran.

  The explosion hit before we reached the end of the block. If Men in Black taught me anything, they’d report it as a gas leak.

  By the time we reached the trailer park, the sun was setting, and the goo had dried and flaked off. Not all of it. But some.

  The smell stayed.

  Burnt popcorn is the worst.

  “I just want to shower and pass out,” I said, brushing flakes from my hair.

  “Too bad we didn’t get paid,” Orson said. “We’ll need another job.”

  “That’s tomorrow’s problem.”

  We still had a good three blocks left, but we were also by the cemetery.

  “Let’s cut through,” I said. “I’m exhausted.”

  So stupid.

  Amir insisted that “delicious” was correct. Then he winked at me and said, “You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Amir would like to clarify that he didn’t know if they were all related, but he assumed they were.