Chapter 2: Writing the Uncanny

2

Click.

In my home office, Rachel typed the last word, then looked up at me.

Sunlight poured in, catching stacks of horror novels, Funko Pops, and the mug she’d basically adopted as her writing partner. The air smelled like fresh coffee and warm printer paper.

"So what happened next? What secret did the hunter figure out?" I asked, leaning forward in my squeaky chair, hoodie sleeves bunched in my fists.

Rachel closed her laptop, grabbed her coffee, and shrugged. "Just a story I made up. Haven’t decided what the secret is yet."

She wouldn’t meet my eyes, tracing circles on her mug, like she was hoping I’d drop it.

My face fell. "Seriously? I watched you write the whole thing, got sucked in, and you—the author—don’t even know?"

I threw my hands up, grinning. "You can’t just cliffhanger me, Rachel! That’s evil."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Alex, you’re always coming up with weird ideas. Help me brainstorm."

She raised an eyebrow, smirking in that old detective-game way from when we were kids.

I was speechless. "You’re the horror novelist! You’re asking me?"

She smacked my shoulder. "It’s called collaboration. My first draft had the stranger as a monster, but that’s been done to death. Not creepy enough."

She poked me. "‘It was a werewolf’ is so last century. I want something that really messes with people’s heads."

"If you’re writing about the uncanny valley, you can’t just make it a monster..."

I stood and grabbed a book from her shelf—classic horror writers, full of her highlighted notes.

The cover was battered, but the inside was a rainbow of sticky notes—Rachel’s handiwork.

I flipped to a section and handed it over. "See, uncanny valley theories started with robots and stuff that’s not really alive."

Rachel made a face. "Yeah, I know the basics."

She took the book anyway, tapping her pen against the desk.

"Alright, teach me."

I grinned. "Your story’s about early humans, so robots are out. Wouldn’t fit, right?"

She didn’t look up. "Exactly. That’s why I made the thing—a creature that looks human, but has a fatal flaw. Once someone sees it, they know."

I perked up. "So what’s the flaw?"

I grabbed my mug, expecting her to drop a bombshell, but she just stared back.

She snapped, "Didn’t I just say? I don’t know yet."

She tossed her pen at me, half-laughing. "Maybe you’ll figure it out before I do."

I crossed my legs, teasing, "Martians? Lizard people? Mole people?"

I did my best X-Files voice. "The truth is out there, Scully!"

She waved me off. "Lame."

She shook her head, grinning. "Give me something with a twist, not a conspiracy theory."

After a beat, she pointed at her laptop. "But I did give them a name."

She looked smug, like she’d solved a riddle I hadn’t even noticed.

"What name?"

I leaned forward, pretending to jot notes.

"We’re humans, so they’re called—Humanoids."

She said it slowly, like it was a secret password.

"Seriously?" I flopped onto the sofa. "If you say it too fast, people will think you mean the generic 'humanoid.' You’re killing me."

I groaned, but her deadpan delivery almost fooled me.

She shot me a look and went back to her book, sticking her tongue out with mock concentration. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Then something clicked. "Why did the hunter sense something was off about the humanoid right away?"

I looked at her, suddenly serious. The question felt bigger than her story.

She met my gaze, her expression shifting, and asked, "Alex, do you ever get creeped out when you look at me?"

For a moment, I wondered if she was joking. The way she stared made my skin crawl.

"What?" I blinked. "What are you talking about?"

I shifted in my chair, suddenly uneasy.

She grinned wide, eyes crinkling. Relief washed over me—classic Rachel.

"One trait of humanoids: before anyone spots their flaw, a few people still sense them—and get scared."

She took a sip of coffee, like she’d just pulled off a magic trick.

"But fear’s gotta come from somewhere. If there’s no flaw, what’s scary about them?" I pressed, curiosity winning out.

She set the book down and just stared at me, face blank.

Her eyes unfocused, like she was seeing straight through me. The silence grew heavy.

"Rachel, why are you looking at me like that?"

I forced a laugh, hoping she’d snap out of it.

The tick of the clock was suddenly too loud. I shifted, wishing I’d left my door open.

She tilted her head, half-smiling. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Why are you so sure the person who came to your house today is really your cousin?"