She’d moved to the center of the room, swaying slightly on legs that looked too thin to hold her. Her skin had grayed to the color of bruised meat, clinging to her bones like melted wax. Thick, blackish veins pulsed under the surface, making her look like something still forming in a womb. Her eyes were pale and filmed over, pupils dilated to the edge of blindness.

And then she spoke.

“O Black Goat, who writhes in bloom,
We gather in thy pulsing womb.
Beneath the soil, where bones are sown,
You nurse the seed, the rot, the bone.”

Her voice came in layers—some hers, but others not. Star heard staff members’ voices, too. Ones who were no longer around.

“Put your back into it!” Yasir shouted, now helping Andrea shove at the door, fear finally overtaking logic.

Miriam hunched, bones crackling—not cleanly, but like wet branches forced to bend. Her head snapped backward, mouth tearing wider and wider until it split at the corners. Her jaw unhinged grotesquely.

“Mother’s milk from the roots, we drink.
Sweet is the sap, and thick as ink.
It stains our tongues, it blinds our eyes—
But through the dark, we split and rise!”

Her lips didn’t move anymore. The voices crawled out of her throat, unnatural and growing louder. She bent fully backwards, her spine audibly breaking in three places. Then, without warning, her torso twisted—a full 180—her feet stayed planted as her body bent and spun until her head hung between her legs.

Her eyes were wrong now—vertical pupils like a goat’s, intelligent and hungry.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Andrea screamed, hammering at the door. “OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

Glenn finally snapped out of his daze and rushed over, throwing himself against the door to help. But even with all four of them pushing, it barely budged. The air was getting thick—fog poured in from the vents, dreamlike and syrupy, making every movement feel slow, detached, like trying to sprint underwater.

Star stumbled, shoved sideways in the chaos. His vision blurred.

Miriam’s jaw hung slack now, broken and drooling a thin, blue-green ichor. Something shifted in her throat—an eye opened, red and wet, peering directly at him.

Her ruined body convulsed as the voices continued:

“The flesh shall blister, bend, and break,
For fertile gifts you bid us take.
Your thousand mouths all sing as one:
From death you came—rebirth begun!”

The walls shifted around him. Star could feel Miriam’s presence everywhere. That distant bleating returned—closer now. But it wasn’t just noise anymore. It spoke. He almost understood it. The sound was climbing into his head, twisting in words that didn’t make sense but felt true.

Then—hands on him. He was yanked off the floor and shoved into the hallway. Glenn. He slammed the door behind them just as Miriam started screaming.

Not the inhuman voices this time. Her real voice.

“Oh GOD! Oh Lord! M-my head! What’s happening?! Where am I?!”

Andrea made a move for the door, panicked. “She’s back! She’s herself! We have to help her!”

“Not the kind of help we can give,” Glenn said, trying for calm. But his voice trembled.

Andrea stared at him. “So what? We just leave her to die?”

“She’s already dead,” Glenn said firmly. “We’re making sure she doesn’t kill us, too.”

Inside, Miriam screamed again—panicked, raw. “I can’t see! Oh god—why can’t I see?!”

Andrea turned to the others for help, but no one moved. Then came the sound of gagging. Wet, strained.

Then the tearing.

It was her voice again—but twisted into a goat’s bleat. Something heavy fell with a wet slap.

Silence.

Then a wet, dragging sound approached the door. Something small. Something crawling.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

A voice, cracked and soft:
“Honey? Sweet pea?”

It was trying to sound sweet. Trying.

Andrea screamed and threw herself against the door, pressing it shut with everything she had.

The knocking got louder. More urgent. The door began to bend outward slightly, like whatever was behind it was gaining mass—gaining strength.

Glenn and Andrea braced harder against the door. Star and Yasir spun in circles looking for something—anything—to block it, reinforce it, stop the inevitable.

“There’s nothing!” Yasir shouted, panicked.

Star ran. Down the hallway, past pulsing walls and sighing vents. He could barely hear Andrea scream after him: “FUCKING COWARD!”

He ignored her. Skidded into the cafeteria.

Everything was wrong.

The room had turned into a swamp—moss, vines, and black mold had overtaken every surface. The tile floor squished beneath him. The air hummed. But he found a tray. Two chairs.

It had to be enough.

He ran back.

The walls reached for him. Mold-covered hands, or maybe vines, or something else—slithering along the edge of the walls like they knew his name.

He burst into the hallway, yelled, “HEY!” just before something grabbed his ankle. He fell. Hard. The chairs and tray flew from his arms.

Andrea grabbed the tray, wedged it beneath the door.

Glenn took one of the chairs, slammed it against the handle.

The pounding stopped.

A faint, childish giggle echoed from the other side.