Emma lay awake, staring at the faint shadows shifting on her ceiling. The air in her room felt heavy, oppressive, as though something unseen lurked in the darkness. The clock beside her bed read 2:12 a.m. She closed her eyes, willing herself back to sleep, when a sound broke the silence a voice, soft and warm, calling her from the hallway.
"Emma, sweetie, come here."
Emma's eyes snapped open. She recognized her mother's voice, gentle and familiar, yet something felt… wrong. Her mom was away, staying with her aunt in another town, and wasn't due back until the following day. She tried to brush it off, thinking it must be a trick of her imagination. But then, she heard it again, closer this time.
"Emma, honey, I need you. Come here."
A chill crept down her spine. Sitting up in bed, Emma strained to listen, hoping the voice would stop. But instead, it grew clearer, more insistent.
"Emma…" The voice was now just outside her door, its tone taking on an edge that sent a shiver through her. "Come here, don't make me come in there."
Emma's throat tightened as she realized this wasn't a dream. The voice was as real as her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Against her better judgment, she slid out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. Every step she took toward the door felt heavy, as if something was pulling her forward.
She cracked the door open, peering into the dark hallway. The only light came from a small nightlight at the end of the hall, casting long shadows that twisted and stretched as though alive. At the edge of the darkness, she could just make out a figure, swaying slightly.
"Mom?" she whispered, barely audible.
The figure didn't respond. It simply stood there, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. Then, slowly, it began to move toward her, each step accompanied by a sickening crack of bone.
Emma felt her stomach churn, an overwhelming sense of wrongness filling her. But she couldn't move; she was frozen in place, trapped between the urge to run and the inexplicable pull of her mother's voice, though she knew, somehow, that this thing was not her mother.
"Emma," the figure rasped, its voice warping, twisting into something dark and ancient. "Come here. Don't you love your mother?"
Its face emerged from the shadows, but the eyes were hollow, empty voids that seemed to swallow the faint light. The skin around its mouth was stretched too wide, splitting at the corners, as if forcing a grotesque smile.
Emma gasped and stumbled backward, slamming her door shut and locking it. She backed against her bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the voice grew louder, more urgent, scratching and banging on the other side of the door.
"Emma! Let me in. Don't you love me?"
The voice was furious now, shrill and unnatural, echoing through the small room. Emma's hands trembled as she grabbed her phone and dialed her mother, praying she'd answer. After a few rings, her mother's groggy voice came through.
"Emma? It's late… what's going on?"
Tears sprang to Emma's eyes. She whispered frantically, "Mom, there's… someone here. It sounds like you, but it's not you. Please, I'm scared."
There was silence on the other end of the line, then her mother's voice, now trembling, "Emma, lock your door. I'm calling the police right now. Don't open the door, no matter what."
Before Emma could respond, she heard a faint sound a whisper coming through the phone.
"Emma…" the distorted voice hissed, now echoing both from her door and from her phone speaker. "You can't hide from me."
The line went dead. Emma dropped her phone, the silence in the room thick and suffocating. The pounding on her door resumed, each hit rattling her entire room, as if whatever was outside was clawing, forcing its way in.
She backed up against the window, her eyes darting around, searching for any possible escape. But before she could move, the door burst open, the wood splintering as the figure from the hallway stepped inside. In the dim light, Emma could see it clearly now her mother's face, twisted, hollow-eyed, with a smile that split her face too wide, revealing rows of sharp, blackened teeth.
Emma tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat. The figure advanced on her slowly, savoring her fear.
"Don't you love me, Emma?" it cooed, each word dripping with malice.
Emma's vision blurred as she pressed herself against the cold glass of the window, trapped with nowhere to go. The last thing she saw was her mother's twisted, hollow face, inches from hers, as it whispered, "Come here, Emma. I need you."