The window was blown open by the wind.
The bone-chilling cold made his body shiver in short, rapid bursts.
He hurriedly slammed it shut.
Nghich Luu looked at himself in the mirror, his face gaunt.
Familiar until it made him sick.
He got dressed, then went downstairs.
He only saw food already laid out on the table, cooked who knows when.
*Ting Ting Ting.
Welcome to the show "Happy House"
Today we'll learn how to cut an apple!*
The voice on the TV was cheerful to an abnormal degree.
Like those children's programs from years past, the sound slightly warped.
-Mom? Why are you up so early.
No one answered. He was used to that.
The room was dark, only the light from the TV.
The thick musty smell drifting faintly.
He sat down, picked up a piece of meat and put it in his mouth.
Cold.
Not a hint of warmth from the stove.
The harsh salty taste immediately surged up.
He nearly couldn't swallow it.
He forced himself to keep chewing the meat.
But the more he chewed.
The saltier it got.
A sensation like some liquid slowly seeping inside his mouth.
-Gag
His body reacted before he could think—the piece of meat was spat out violently.
The thing on the plate darkened gradually.
Dark liquid seeping down.
The meat wasn't salty.
It was blood from this morning.
-Damn it.
He quickly downed the glass of water beside him.
Trying to force down that sensation.
Now stick the knife in!
Very good! The apple is bleeding!
Don't worry, that's perfectly normal~
The TV sound echoed.
He set the glass down.
Looked toward the living room.
From where he sat, he could only see her shadow and the light from the TV casting onto the ceiling.
-Mom, aren't you eating?
Still no response.
He stood up.
Put on his coat. Picked up his bag.
-I'm done eating, heading to school now.
Nghich Luu turned his back, walked a few steps.
CRASH.
A sound from the living room.
His steps froze.
He turned his head.
-What's wrong, MOM?
She remained silent.
As if she couldn't hear.
-That is... mom, right?
The shadow sitting there.
Not moving.
As if it had been sitting there for a very long time.
He took another step forward, though he knew he shouldn't.
A knife was placed neatly on the table.
Next to the sofa.
Nghich Luu stood still.
Hand gripping his bag strap tight.
The TV light reflected on her cheek,
casting deep shadows in her eye sockets.
The program continued playing.
As if that was what mattered.
She wasn't blinking.
The TV sound steady and unchanging.
The room was so quiet there wasn't even the sound of breathing.
If she turns her head...
He took a deep breath.
The room's musty smell—distinctive, thick—flooded his nose.
Just... checking, that's all.
He wanted to know.
To know for certain.
Nghich Luu moved forward.
Reached out his hand to touch her shou—
Crack.
A crisp, shattering sound.
Echoing like gunfire inside his head.
His foot stepped on something near the sofa.
Shards from the glass cup.
He quickly backed away.
Staring fixedly at his mother.
One step
Two steps
His back touched something cold and metallic.
His hand grabbed the door handle.
Tried to turn it.
But it wouldn't open.
The door was locked.
The TV sound went silent.
He turned back to look at his mother.
She still sat there motionless.
On the sofa.
But the knife on the table.
Was gone.
How could that be?
In the darkness, a slow sound.
Footsteps.
Coming closer.
His back pressed hard against the door.
His fingers still gripping the handle tight.
Even though he knew it wouldn't open.
-Thud
A heavy, dull sound rang out behind his back.
Very close.