She spun. A man sat in the corner, half in shadow. He wore a janitor’s uniform, and his face was kind, ruined, familiar.
The janitor pointed. Through the window, the fog had lifted, revealing a church. Its steeple was a twisted spire of black iron, and its doors were open, revealing a fire that burned without warmth. shattered memories cheryl
Cheryl’s blood ran cold. She followed the sound through a playground she didn’t recognize, past swings that swayed without wind, past a merry-go-round whose painted horses had cracked, weeping faces. The laughter led her to a school. Midwich Elementary. The sign hung crooked, its letters half-eaten by rust. She spun