Bitter (Pet #0.5)

by Akwaeke Emezi

The figure was much larger than she’d expected—its scaled head alone was about half the size of her body, with seven narrow and opaque eyes, all a feline yellow with black slits. Its neck snaked out from the painting, a streak of wax gleaming down its red throat, jagged white eggshells marking its spine, going on forever before the torso emerged with a slick hiss. The creature looked like it was made out of compressed smoke that was having a hard time staying together; it kept giving off thick gouts of gray and white that would then pull back to the body. It was already eclipsing Bitter’s room, its head bending against her ceiling as the rest of its body broke out of the wood, long limbs and hooked claws. An acrid smell filled the air, and Bitter noticed that the wooden panel was charring as the creature worked its way through. She stared in shock as the wood burned, as this thing unfolded in front of her, terrifying and absolutely too big for this world.