Welcome Wagon

The new neighbors were grinning on the couch. They couldn't not grin; their desiccated skin had pulled away from their mouths. They'd been dead for sixteen years. "We appreciate your hospitality," said one of them. He (or she?) lifted a cup to his exposed teeth and poured the tea in. It trickled visibly down the exposed ribs below. "Such a nice house. We want you to know that we're not prejudiced." "Oh?" I said, trying to breathe through my mouth. "You can't help what you are, dear. We know that." "Besides," said the other, "you'll be like us eventually. Everyone is."