SHch SHch SHch.
Sixteen-year-old Selma’s eyes tear open.
Her window, her walls, her bed thrum. Selma can’t move!
Snap.
A beam of light.
Her window lifts.
Two bug-eyed humanoid creatures float in.
Selma manages to tap her music playlist. Heavy metal blares.
The aliens crash to the floor.
Selma runs to her parents’ room. Screaming, she shakes them.
That morning, Tony stares into the empty bedroom — empty of everything. He sips his coffee casually.
“Linda, we really should do something with this room.”
