Someone knocks at the door, making Lucy jump.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Mommy laughs, “It’s Daddy, that’s all.”
Lucy scoots back. It’s late, and Daddy has his own key; he never knocks. Mommy reaches for the latch.
The door explodes inwards in a cloud of splinters. Mommy wheels away screaming, a hinge embedded in her eye.
A figure steps through the gap, wearing Daddy’s coat and overalls, and his face as a mask. Behind ragged flaps of skin, masses of red worms contort and writhe.
“Don’t worry, kiddo,” gurgles the thing, as its face drops into Lucy’s lap, “Daddy’s home.”
Adam writes stories about bad people doing bad things, often to one another. His work has appeared in Coffin Bell Journal and Friday Flash Fiction. He resides in the UK, and on Twitter @AdamDownFiction