Work Text:
The things that were once the Palmer children feasted in their party clothes, blood and gore decorating their mouths like a clown's make-up. It had been Mike Palmer's birthday, and not theirs. But something had been born in their bodies that day, wearing their faces. Mike, his wife, and his children were dead; but these were not.
Their party hats sat on their heads askew as they ate their father's remains.