It was one day after the encounter with Mr. Lee. Ellen's fingers drummed noisily against the wooden table, sipping a newly made cup of coffee. She sat in front of a computer, her hands put lightly on the keys. Her eyes were blank, struggling to conjure up any ideas. She kept mashing the keyboard in frustration, typing up an amalgamation of letters and numbers. She took her coffee cup and blew off the steam, sipping what she had come to know as her saving grace. With a single deep exhale, she left her computer to relax. Over the past few weeks, she had been overworking herself, each day that passed meaning less and less sleep. Ellen fell down onto her bed, closing her eyes, letting herself calm down. And as Ellen was about to fall into deep slumber, the phone started to ring.

Her eyes snapped back up, eyebrows raised in confusion and attention. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the vibrating cell phone. The white letters spelled the name of her favorite person to talk to. She pressed the answer button and put the phone up to her ear, smiling and saying, "Hi, mom! How are you!" However, Ellen's smile slowly turned into a frown, when her mother spoke. "Honey," she said, "Eleanor, I-" Over the phone, Ellen's mother started to give into a disgusting coughing fit. "Mom! What's wrong?" Ellen said, putting a concerned hand over her gaping mouth.

"Honey, I... I need you, Ellie, I..." Ellen's eyes widened with fright. "Mom! Please! Tell me!" Her mother's now croaking, ill voice came over the phone timidly. "I'm not well, Ellie. Dr. Seward, he... he says that he doesn't recognize the disease. He thinks... Dr. Seward says that I might pass away soon," Tears rolled slowly down Ellen's face, her breaths becoming panicked, and her voice cracking. "Mom, I... what can I say? I don't want you to go, mom! Please, put Seward on the phone."

"Ok, honey. Ok," Ellen's mother passed the phone to her physician, Doctor Seward. His heavy Brirish accent boomed deeply over the phone. "Hello, Ms. Eleanor Morris. Your mother, she is not well. We do not have enough knowledge of symptoms to discern what the illness is. I am so sorry, Ms. Morris. Your mother, Ms. Margaret, she is dying." Ellen stood there, dumbfounded by this sudden news, crying and unable to speak properly. Dr. Seward tried to help desperately, offering words of comfort, trying to soothe her. Through tears and blubbering, Ellen asked Dr. Seward to give the phone back to her mother. "Mom, please, stay strong. I'll be there as soon as I can," And then, the phone stopped. The call ended, as Ellen rushed to her car.

The vehicle clunked down the gravel road, passing the roads and stores, speeding toward the hospital with a burning intent. People on the sidewalk that Ellen passed waved and smiled, but they did not notice her pain and agony. At last, the car halted at the large white building, an eerie, clean, clinical feel overcoming her. The halls were lengthy and cold, her footsteps echoing throughout the blinding white rooms. The nurse had guided her to Room 1260. Ellen prepared herself for the worst, but what she was about to see was much, much worse.

Her mother was lying in the bed.
The only sounds were her wheezing breaths and coughs. Her eyes were closed, and her face was wrinkled and pale, without any blood. It looked as if Margaret's face was a loose Halloween mask, moldy and pale. Margaret tried to speak, opening her mouth slowly. She could only manage some crunching, unearthly groan, showing jagged rotten teeth. Her eyes carried sagging bags and her pupils were a striking red, a vast contrast from Margaret's usual blue. Her gums were shriveled and pale. Her lips were thin and torn. You could see the cheekbones, as the eyes bulged in some grotesque, disgusting manner. Margaret held her arms to embrace her daughter, only to show ugly claws sprouted from nimble fingers. And Margaret was only fifty years old.

Ellen stood there, gaping mouth, repulsed by her mother. She took a step back, horrified by her transformation. Margaret had been a healthy, rather well aged woman a week ago, now rendered a pale, sagging mess. "Ellleeeaaannnoorr..." she called, arms spread wide, her voice sounding like some scratchy bat. "Mom, what has happened to you?" Ellen said, walking towards her mother. Margaret's face contorted itself in a cracked smile full of sharpened teeth. "Ellie, I feel more powerful than ever before! Give your mother a hug!" As disgusting by her mother's appearance as she was, Ellen could not refuse her dying mother one final hug. The two embraced.

And then, Margaret gasped, making a gross demonic inhaling noise, a mix of squelching and churning all at once. Her eyes bulged in fright and her body started to twitch uncontrollably. Margaret started to cackle and cackle, coughing up a goopy black tarlike bile. She started to quiver. Her bones began to crack and snap together, twisting and clenching with each movement. And out of her mouth sprouted to grossly long fangs, like needles, ready to stab Ellen's neck. But finally, the old lady died, a lifeless smile on her contorted face, and scars all over her face. Ellen pressed the button to call for help from nurses, as Dr. Seward rushed in with medicine. He gasped and fell to the floor when he saw Margaret's twisted body on the bed.

Ellen had opened the curtain, the clouds blocking any light, hiding away the sun. And it was there she saw Mr. Lee, sporting that twisted grin, full of sharp teeth, holding an umbrella to block any light. He was simply standing there, watching Ellen from across the street. He tilted his head, cracking his neck bones and cackling. A look of disgust and shock flashed in her eyes. Mr. Lee had to have had something to do with this. He must have. But then, when Ellen blinked, Mr. Lee vanished, not sight of him left. The distraught woman turned to tend to her mother's corpse, when she noticed something: two piercing neck marks that looked like some sort of animal bite.

"Mom was such an important part of my life. She was there with me when Dad left us. She stayed resilient through all that life threw at her. But not even she could stop fate. At 7:31 P.M., she passed away, consumed by an unknown illness that no one could properly cure. The illness struck so suddenly, in the surprisingly quick span of one day. The doctors say the virus was spread to her the night before she died, then quickly turned her into a diseased husk of her former self. But I know that somewhere above, Margaret Morris, who I know as Mom, is watching us in peace. Thank you all,"

Everyone clapped as Ellen concluded her eulogy. It was just so strange. Margaret had called 911 in the middle of night, and was found unconscious in her house, turned grotesque and pale in a matter of minutes. It had only gotten worse from there. Over thirteen hours, she mutated into some sagging ugly, white hag, coughing up tar and cackling with the most spine chilling voice ever heard. and now, Margaret was dead, locked away in a mausoleum.

It was reported to the grieving people of Locksville that Leon Kivver, Jackson Bezzel's right hand man, was found brutally murdered two nights after Margaret Woodhouse's death. That, and the mausoleum door of the Morrises had been unlocked.