In the moments between when I knocked on her door and when she answered it, the madness crept in.

I slapped a smile on my face, but as though it had a mind of its own, the smile turned into a grin and then a

grimace. Screams echoed in my head, accompanied by images of women suffering slow, horrific

deaths. Still, I couldn't force my face to shift, and my muscles quickly began to ache from

the strain. I knew I looked like a madman,

because I had seen the same face in the mirror many times, more so lately, as the madness came

more frequently. I shifted the gift bag I held in my left hand, half surprised that I still had

control of some portions of my body, just not my face.

As thudding footsteps approached from inside the modest ranch-style home, I briefly entertained

the thought of turning to run. I pictured myself bolting down the sunny street, the insane

grimace still stuck on my face. I imagined it staying there for hours,

days, and always with the horrific screams and scenes playing on repeat in my head.

A sick chuckle nearly fell out of my mouth as she unlocked the deadbolt.

She was going to see how insane I looked and slammed the door in my face.

Good. Maybe that's what I wanted. The door swung open, and Jessica's plump, pretty face

beamed out at me. I waited for her expression to change to one of horror, but it didn't.

And I realized I was no longer grimacing.

I was smiling.

How did I do that?

I wondered.

Did I imagine the whole thing?

No.

...