“Honey, I got a letter in the mailbox for you.”
Mom handed me an envelope.
I opened it, my eyes widened, and my whole
body seized up.
It was a photo.
It showed me on the ground, people kicking
- me.
The bullies were pouring glue on my head.
They were laughing.
I remembered what they said.
“Bitches don’t deserve to have pretty hair.”
I remembered the pain of their heels on my
stomach.
There was a sentence on the back of the
photo:
“We’re excited to come to your house and
see how the bitches live.”
At the end, they drew a smiley face.
Sweat dripped from my forehead.
I tried to hide the photo behind my back.
But Mom took it.
I watched her.
Her expression didn’t change, she was still
smiling.
<
“Honey, did they do this to you?
“Is that why you cut your hair?”
I nodded, pressing my face against her hand.
“Mom… please… I can transfer schools, we
can tell the teachers, I’ll make them leave me
alone…
“Don’t hurt them…”
I begged.
Whenever I made Mom angry, this would
work.
Mom laughed.
Her dark eyes stared at me.
“Honey, I like when you beg, but it won’t work
this time.
“I told you, we have to be nice to our guests.
We can’t turn them away.”
Mom touched my face and whispered, “We’re
gonna give them an unforgettable night.”
My body went cold.
<
That night, I had a nightmare.
I was eight years old again.
I was standing barefoot in the living room.
It was dark.
My parents‘ door was open a crack.
Light seeped out.
I heard them talking.
I walked over.
“I don’t know if we did the right thing bringing
her home…”
“Do you regret it?”
“Not regret, but this kid…”
“If we don’t want her anymore, we can get rid
of her. There’s more than one body in the
garden…”
I felt cold.
I was trapped in hell.
The room went quiet.
My parents slowly opened the door.
They stared at me.
“Kids who eavesdrop are bad!”
Chapter 2
I woke up in a cold sweat.
That conversation from when I was eight
years old had become a nightmare.
It was like a noose around my neck.
I didn’t know when it would tighten.
I wasn’t their real kid.
That’s why my personality was so different.
If Mom and Dad got upset…
I’d be gone.
Like all the other people Dad had killed,
throat slit, watching your blood spray
everywhere as you waited to die.
My eyes darted over to the door.
It was slightly open.
I froze.
I’d locked it before I went to bed.
<
A dark figure was standing silently in the
doorway.
I recognized the outline of those expensive
Italian leather shoes.
“Ryan…?” I whispered, my voice shaking.
My brother stepped out of the darkness.
He’s always busy with work and rarely comes
home.
It had been almost three months since I last
saw him.
He looked down at me, his handsome face
unreadable.
“What are you doing here, Ryan…?” I forced a
smile.
Out of everyone in this family, Ryan scared
me the most.
Every time he was home, no matter how many
times I locked my door, I’d wake up from a
nightmare and find him sitting on my bed.
Just staring at me.
L
He reached out and touched my ear.
His fingers were ice cold.
I flinched, trying not to show my discomfort.
I couldn’t show any resistance.
I knew it would only excite him more.
“Mom called and said your friends are coming
over tomorrow. She wanted me to make sure I
was here for it.”
I tensed up, my back stiff.
“We have to make a good impression, right,
Sammy?”
He chuckled and pinched my ear.
“Besides, I missed you.”
Ryan took off his jacket.
He sat on the edge of my bed, staring at me
like a viper ready to strike.
“Why can’t you hug me like you hug that
teddy bear of yours?”
His voice was low and raspy.
It sent another shiver down my spine.
“I’m tired, Ryan. Can you leave?” I whispered,
my face pale.
Ryan stared at me for what felt like forever.
Finally, he placed a soft kiss on my forehead.
“Goodnight, Sammy.”
He got up and left the room.
I grabbed my blanket, pulled it over my head,
and curled up into a ball.
I knew he wasn’t gone.
He was just pretending to leave.
I could feel his eyes on me.
When I woke up, it was morning.
I must have drifted off at some point during
the night.
I went to the bathroom and splashed some
water on my face.
The girl in the mirror had a weak, pale face.
I took a deep breath.
“I have to stop them from coming today.”
In the corner of the living room were a couple
of black garbage bags, bulging and lumpy.
I could smell the faint, metallic odor coming
from them.
It made me want to throw up.
I knew what was inside.
But something wasn’t right.
There seemed to be fewer bags than before.
“Sammy, breakfast! I made your favorite
oatmeal!”
Dad was wearing his apron, smiling.
On the table was a pot of steaming oatmeal.
The air was filled with the smell of meat.
I sat down at the table, my face pale, staring
at the chunks of bright red meat floating in
the oatmeal.
Could it be…?
Ryan was eating his oatmeal, smiling.
“What’s wrong, Sammy? You’re not eating. I
think the young are always more tender than
old people…”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I ran to the bathroom and started gagging.
I heard Mom complain from the living room.
