Dahlia

Fake Junie should be dead.

But she is not.

The imposter wearing her smile like skin begins to rise unnaturally. Her limbs jerk like a marionette pulled by strings that don’t quite know where the joints belong. Her spine arches up first, head dangling, then snaps upright all at once with a sickening pop that echoes off the walls. Her face finds mine, upside down at first, before her neck turns and her eyes are level with mine again. But they don’t blink. They ...