A mother comes home, but her son isn't the only one waiting.

—

"Tommy, you’ve tracked mud all through the house."

Muddy footprints trail from the door up the stairs.

"Mommy, Jimmy is back!"

"Honey, we’ve been over this… Jimmy is dead." She looks toward the staircase, then back at Tommy.

"No, Mommy. He’s upstairs."

Her eyes fall to Tommy’s sneakers. White. Perfectly clean.

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