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The Apartment #127

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An hour had passed. Tracey looked at the clock on the wall to assure herself that an hour really had passed: yes, it had.
She and Rick sat together: she, confused eyes red, but dry now, breathing restored to normal, hands no longer visibly trembling; he, confused eyes red, a peristaltic fear rippling through his stomach and his chest. A lingering dread made both their mouths dry.
Timmy, comforted and now oblivious to their hidden turmoil, played on the floor.
"What's happening, Ricky?"
Ricky shook his head. It turned into Timmy's head.
Tracey's scream abruptly stopped when Rick's face returned.

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