Here's a quick look at a Dancing With Demons rewrite I am still procrastinating at:
"I mean, you went outside, you opened the door."
"What?" Mark turned around, facing Ethan.
There was something off with his face.
Something almost normal, almost Ethan, that it was arduous to discriminate what was missing. Yet it was there. His eyes were wrong, as was his mouth, his smile, the curve of his cheeks, the crease beneath his eyes. What was once a brilliant, twinkling blue, was now grey and icy. No shine nor gleam in vapid, elongated eyes. Pupils too blown--too black--to look right. No creases or lines under his eyes, no signs of happiness in his features. His smile bulged, skin too far stretched, teeth protruding too much behind pale, cracked lips. It was almost Ethan; if a stranger were to look at him, they wouldn't find anything wrong. There was no spirit. No soul. There was an unpalatable shell standing in front of him.
"You miss-clicked," Ethan stated, feigning humor, eyes too wide--the whites of them too visible--to be Ethan.
"You miss-stepped," he continued. "You stumbled outside. You did it, and now I'm here."