Calvin sat cross-legged on the floor, the metal, star-shaped box resting in his lap. He lifted the piece to examine it. It was no thicker than a coin and about the size of a shirt button with sharp scalloped edges.

  He set it down beside him, then lifted the box. Turning it slowly, he studied the surface.

  The white star had eight legs, its face etched with gold lines that cut across it in uneven paths. Some crowded close together, others spaced farther apart.

  One section was missing, exposing dark brass beneath. He picked up the piece from the floor and tried to set it into place, but it was too small. He turned the box again, his fingers tracing the edges, and found another gap.

  Just before pressing it into place, he noticed something else. The piece could be set two ways, black side up or white.

  He remembered the man’s words.

  “White gets you back.”

  He pressed the piece back into place, white side out. It locked in with a soft click.

  Calvin searched the surface for other gaps. He counted them. Four remained. But why four?

  A loud cry rose from below.

  He hesitated, glancing at the door that led down the stairs. Then a second cry this one higher and sharper.

  “Elsie,” he said, already moving.

  He ran down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, the sewing tables were gone. No tables draped in fabric. No tools. Just an empty, pale space, like the room had been cleared out.

  In one corner sat Elsie. Knees drawn to her chest. She sat dressed in a soft, pale nightgown, crying quietly.

  “Elsie!” Calvin rushed toward her.

  She looked up, eyes wide with terror.

  “No,” she cried, covering her face. “No!”

  She wasn’t looking at him.

  Her gaze had fixed on something behind him, past his shoulder. Calvin turned to follow it.

  At the back of the room, half-swallowed by shadow, stood a figure. At first he took it for a tall, unfinished mannequin.

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  Then it stepped forward.

  Calvin recoiled.

  Its hairless, lopsided head was stretched thin over the bones beneath, skin pulled tight like damp cloth over wire. Dozens of pin needles were driven between its lips, sealing them shut. It stepped forward. Each movement forced bone to press against skin. It took a second step. It moved in broken rhythms, one leg snapping forward, arms dragging behind, too fast and too slow at the same time.

  “It’s coming for me,” Elsie cried.

  The thing advanced. Its skin split as it moved, the sound like soft fabric tearing in half, peeling open to expose slick bands of dark red muscle.

  Calvin backed away, heart hammering, but the creature didn’t even register him. It went straight for Elsie. She turned her face to the wall, crying.

  Then he remembered the metal star in his hands.

  He raised it high above his head and flung it hard. But it passed straight through the creature like smoke.

  A thought came to Calvin. He stepped toward it and reached for its pale shoulder. A shoulder blade jutted through the skin, blood oozing out. He tried to touch it, but his hand passed straight through, as if the thing were a ghost.

  Then the creature seized Elsie. Its bony hands clamped around her thin elbow. She screamed as it dragged her across the room, pulling her from the corner and hauling her toward it.

  Calvin thought of Pa.

  The piece.

  The box.

  He moved toward his sister.

  “Elsie,” he said, forcing his voice steady. “It’s not real.”

  “It’s coming for me,” she sobbed.

  “Elsie—listen to me. It isn’t real. But you are. You have to remind yourself. Say it. Tell it to go away.”

  “I can’t,” she cried as the thing hovered over her.

  “Yes, you can,” Calvin said. “Just try.”

  The creature moved its mouth, straining to stretch lips shut with needles. Its upper lip split across the metal as it forced itself wider. Elsie squeezed her eyes shut.

  “You’re not real,” she whispered.

  The creature leaned closer.

  “You’re not real,” she said again, louder now. “I’m real. You’re not.”

  Her words came faster, desperate, tumbling over one another.

  “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real.”

  The creature shuddered.

  Its shape blurred, edges unraveling like smoke pulled apart by wind. The skin collapsed inward, folding, shrinking until there was nothing left but empty space.

  “Open your eyes,” Calvin said softly.

  Elsie did. The creature was gone. She gasped, then threw her arms around him. He held her tight, feeling her shake.

  When he looked back to where the creature had stood, another small metal piece lay on the floor.

  Calvin picked it up. Black on one side. White on the other. Only this one was smaller than his piece had been. He found its place on one arm of the star and set it in, white side out. It clicked into place.

  “Five missing pieces, five siblings,” said Calvin.

  “What’s happening?” Elsie cried.

  “We’re in a game.”

  “A game? I don’t like it.”

  Before Calvin could answer, a crash thundered from the dining room.

  They ran.