Marble Springs: Copies

The air in your apartment is cold, bordering on frigid, a stark contrast to the lingering October heat outside. Despite the chill, a shiver runs down your spine that has nothing to do with the temperature. You've just returned home from a long, sweaty day working for the Parks Department, the drone of lawnmowers and the scent of cut grass still clinging to you.

You push open the door to apartment 239. It groans in protest, a familiar sound that usually happens only in the summer. But then, a faint, unsettling giggle drifts to your ears from the living room. Here we go again.

"Come on, guys," you sigh, throwing up your hands in a gesture of weary exasperation. "Do we have to play this?"

You turn to close the door behind you, and that's when you see it – a spindly figure, translucent and gaunt, standing in the doorway. A thin dusting of unkempt hair covers its form. It opens its mouth in a wide, silent shriek.

You stumble backward, a raw scream tearing from your throat.