I sensed the girl's consciousness. She woke up, not daring to move yet, and cautiously surveyed the room.
Meanwhile, the people in the living room had gathered around the stereo again, knocking and tapping it, unplugging the power cord and plugging it back in, then trying every switch.
"It's broken, I guess." Someone announced the bad news.
The group was disappointed and complained for a couple of minutes, but showed no sign of leaving.
They dragged over a table and set out bottles of beer, as if they were about to play some kind of game.
No one else noticed the change in the floor.
No one noticed that one of them had been replaced, either.
The thing—whatever it was—kept the appearance of the person it had just replaced. It stood in place, turning its head as it watched everyone in the room.
It seemed to be observing them, analyzing and learning from their behavior. It didn't blink or move at all. Its manner made me uneasy.
It was acting with purpose, while the others were completely oblivious and had no idea anything was wrong.
What unsettled me most was the thing's identity. If it could sneak in so silently and replace a living person, it could do the same to anyone else.
If it could learn and read someone's memories, the replacements would be even harder to notice.
I watched for a while, but the thing made no further move. Perhaps it learned very slowly.
The girl was fully awake now. She got out of bed and started heading outside.
I turned my head and saw her.
She wore fuzzy bunny slippers, her naturally curly hair loose around her shoulders as she walked toward the living room.
She was about to call for her aunt Emily, but noticed the