she saw the closet-demon of her childhood , a bogey she had for some reason called apple jack , slumped in the corner with his brown fruit-face all pulled in on itself , grinning , waiting for her to wander into his deadly embrace ; the last thing she 'd smell would be his cidery aroma , which was for the time being masked by the stench of spoilage , as he hugged her to death , all the time covering her face with wet avid uncle-kisses .