Beside the trapdoor that led back to the guestroom, my mother crouched over a lump of writhing, sinewy mass. Her soaking hair streamed into pools at her feet, the ridges of her spine twisting with each movement like a large chain grinding taut. The skin on her face pressed outwards, its outermost parts webbed with blue veins. Mom prodded the bulging clump. The mound expanded and contracted to her touch. Long toenails clacked on the floor as she adjusted, her n***d figure caked in glistening sweat.
To her side, Grandma crouched in a similar way. Though her body was far more grotesque than Mom’s. Every part of her seemed to dangle to the floor. Balls of squirming things pushed against her baggy skin as if hoping for a break. She motioned for me to come closer. I held my ground, thinking to
