The old woman hears the sound from her bedroom and her heart drops. “Please God, not her,” she whispers. She screams, and silently hopes that this can be enough to scare the creature away but she knows that her voice isn’t strong enough to reach her daughter’s bedroom.


There’s not enough time to go to the kitchen to get a knife, it might be too late. She looks around her room and sees a pair of scissors. “Good enough,” she thinks. But there’s no time to think, not when this much is at stake. She runs out of her room with the scissors in her hand, praying that it may be enough.


She is close enough now. She screams again, louder than before, louder than anything she has ever screamed before. It may be enough to wake up the others in the house, but she knows her daughter is alone in the room. She opens the door with the scissors in her hand.


She stares down the beast. She sees its long, red tongue attached to her daughter’s womb and she remembers that dark stormy night when she first heard the sounds. When she lost her first baby. She vows that it will never hurt her family ever again.


The old woman grasps the scissors in her hand and charges at her nightmare.


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