Chapter 8
My dad sneered.
You’ve got paranoid delusions. We’ve always lived on the top floor–602.”
That sounded familiar.
Mom had said the same thing.
ut… I clearly remember living at 502, and today was New Year’s Eve–1 bought the cheapest ticket to come home and be with Mom and Dad.
replayed everything that had happened.
must’ve fallen asleep in the hallway earlier… am I dreaming now?
pinched my arm–it hurt.
lo, it’s real. It’s November 5, not New Year’s Eve.
buld what I experienced on New Year’s Eve have been a dream?
checked my pocket–Mom’s face skin was still there.
o that means… Mom really is dead.
ut what about the time and the door numbers?
Why, whether it’s New Year’s Eve or now, do they insist we live on the top floor?
ly head ached trying to figure it out.
tried messaging the building management–still black screen.
stomped into the kitchen, staring at Dad chopping meat.
Jad… what are you chopping?”
‘ork,” he said without looking up. “For pies.”
froze at the cutting board those were fingers.
Jad… pigs don’t have fingers.”
e stared at me for a moment, then laughed and shoved a finger into his mouth.
oo big to swallow at once, he chewed with a sickening crunch.
You’re seeing things–what fingers?”
pinched myself–still painful. Not a dream.
knew exactly what I saw: Dad swallowed Mom’s finger.
punched him in the gut.
Spit it out! Mom’s finger–spit it out!”
e grabbed me, stamned my head against the floor, yanking my hair.
Chapter 8
“You’re gonna die hitting your own father! You must be tired of living!”
My skull rattled, the sound of it hitting the floor echoing inside my head.
Thump thump thump thump….
A red liquid dripped onto my face, warm and metallic.
My vision blurred, everything went black.
When I woke up. I was lying alone on the floor.
Dad was still chopping meat in the kitchen.
wiped blood from my face and asked,
‘Where’s Mom?”
le didn’t look up.
‘On vacation.”
reached into my pocket for her face skin–but it was gone.
glared at him. His smile was… off.
tage boiled over. I grabbed his neck.
Where’s Mom’s face?! Spit it out! I said SPIT IT OUT!”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
