The worst part about the creature wasn't the piercing void of its eyes. It wasn't the clasps bolting the mask onto its head. It wasn't the mortician's suit it wore, or the twitching, stuttering way it moved. It was the smile that sent a shiver through little James Baldur. It was the smile and the hunger behind it. Up until the woman without a mouth had dragged him into a book of his father's stories, James had been a pretty standard kid. Imaginative, thoughtful, perpetually at war with the school bully. But when he was sucked inside the fantasy world of his father's tortured imagination,...