I couldn't even scream anymore because I was afraid they'd crawl inside my mouth.

He didn't scream anymore, or reach for a light to bring himself back to reality.

I couldn't scream anymore.

The girls weren't screaming anymore, but coughing and moaning and praying.

It wasn't screaming anymore, but it was still wiggling.

He had to be, because he wasn't screaming anymore.

He was not really screaming anymore.

"And I didn't hear the girls screaming anymore," he continued.

"You don't need to scream anymore," he whispers.

She wasn't screaming anymore, and "Uncle Henry" was gone, but the static continued, on and on, interspersed with weird swooping sounds.

She couldn't hear her screams anymore, but she knew in her heart that her daughter was out there, somewhere, and that Madison needed her.