"Billy… would you like some pie with your uncle?"
Uncle David's voice drifted from behind the wooden door.
The voice came from behind the wooden door—David's voice. Sweet, cheerful… far too cheerful for a man his age. It had the pitch of a child playing pretend, dripping with affection—but coming from a man Billy couldn't trust.
Billy flinched. The voice was too close. Like his uncle was pressing his face against the door… as if he could see right through it.
"No, sir… Thank you," Billy replied quietly."I'm… I'm just real tired tonight. I think I'll get some rest."
He kept his tone steady. Tried to sound normal. Unbothered.
There was a pause.Then came the reply—soft, disappointed.
"…I see," Uncle David replied, a tinge of disappointment hidden beneath the sweet voice.
Billy let out a soft sigh. Maybe… just maybe, he'd made it through the night.
"I'll just leave the pie out here for you, then,""If you get hungry later… just open the little hatch and grab it.""I'll go get some rest now…"
"I love you, Billy… And sweet dreams, okay?"
Silence.
Then came the soft, slow dragging of footsteps—like he was walking away.
Billy didn't move. Didn't dare.He just listened. Waited. Until he was sure those footsteps were really gone.
Then, carefully, he crawled to the door, pressing himself flat to the floor. He tilted his head down to peek through the small sliding hatch at the bottom.
He wasn't hungry. He didn't want the pie.
But he needed to know—was Uncle David really gone?
He reached for the latch and slowly slid it open.
…
No pie.
No plate.
Just—
Two eyes staring back at him.
Unblinking. Wide.Pressed against the tiny opening like a grotesque insect crouching in wait—only this insect was a fifty-year-old man in a crouch no human should ever attempt.
Billy jerked back with a gasp, slamming into the chair he'd wedged under the doorknob. It clattered against the wooden floor.
And then…Uncle David's hand calmly slid the hatch shut.
Silence returned.
Billy was shaking.His body couldn't stop trembling.
He wanted to run. Wanted to say goodbye to his friends—just in case this really was the end.
He would rather die Than let that monster take something from himSomething no one had the right to take.Something that would haunt him forever.
Uncle David hadn't left.
He was still there.
Waiting.
Outside that door.
…
"Billy… You shouldn't lie." His voice was soft—hurt, even.
"That really… really hurts my feelings, Billy."
"Lying… that's what bad boys do, right?"
"And bad boys… well, don't they need to be punished?"
"Maybe… maybe I need to teach you a lesson."
"Open the door, Billy."
"Come on now… open the door for your uncle."
Billy said nothing.
He searched the room with frantic eyes—
But there was no window. No way out.
Just the door. And the man behind it.
The doorknob jiggled gently—then stopped.
A second later, a heavy hand pressed down and tried again.
But the chair held.
For now.
Billy broke into a sweat, breath catching in his throat.
Then the real effort started.
BAM!
A violent crash shook the door.
The chair rocked.
The wood groaned.
Billy turned to look—eyes wide.
Again. And again. Each hit heavier than the last.
BANG!
The hinges cracked. Wood split.
Another strike.
And then—
CRASH!
The door exploded inward.
The chair flew across the room. Splinters rained everywhere.
Light from the hallway flooded in.
And standing there…
…was Uncle David.
Bare-chested.
Wearing nothing but stained briefs.
And something twitched beneath them.
He was breathing hard. Eyes sweeping the room.
Then he saw the bed—Billy curled tightly beneath the blanket, completely still.
Too scared to move.
A smile bloomed across the man's twisted face.
David stepped in slowly… one hand caressing himself through the thin fabric.
His grin deepened.
He tilted his head back and took a long breath, like he was drinking in a moment he'd waited years for.
"Looks like you're ready, Billy…" he whispered.
"You even wrapped yourself up for me. Like a pretty little present."
His voice was hoarse. Dripping with warped affection.
"You're the first one… to give yourself to me like this."
"I promise I'll take good care of your gift."
He stopped by the bed.
Leaned over slowly.
His hand trembled with anticipation as he reached out.
"I'll unwrap you nice and slow, son…"
David's fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. Veins bulging. Lips parted.
He gripped the edge of the blanket—
Pulled it back gently—
But there was no Billy.
Just pillows. Neatly arranged beneath the blanket to mimic a body.
David froze.
Eyes widened.
Confused—until—
THWACK!
A loud smack exploded behind him.
Billy burst out of the closet, arms raised, slamming a wooden box into the back of David's head.
The man staggered.
Collapsed.
Unconscious.
Billy didn't hesitate.
He leapt over the broken wood, his breath ragged, sweat pouring down his neck.
He sprinted for the door—
One thought in his mind:Get out. Get out. Get OUT.
But then—
"BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLY!!!"
The scream tore through the hall.
David was up.
But now…Now he wasn't pretending anymore.
His face twisted into pure rage. Eyes bloodshot.
No more sweet uncle.
No more mask.
His footsteps thundered behind Billy. Then—A hand grabbed his arm.
Yanked hard.
Billy stumbled.
"You ungrateful LITTLE SHIT!"
"I gave you everything! A bed! Clothes! Even the kind of LOVE no one else would ever give you!"
"And this… this is how you repay me?!"
"If you're too blind to see the love I gave you—"
"Then I'll beat it into you… like they do to animals on the farm!"
"I'll tear you open and slice you like a goddamn pig!"
"Remember this, you little bastard…"
"You. Can't. Run. From. Me."
Billy thrashed wildly, but David locked his arms tight around him.
Choked him from behind.
"Tonight," David hissed, lips brushing Billy's ear,
"I'm gonna make you mine. Inside out."
David whispered into his ear.
Billy's eyes widened in terror—
But then caught sight of something.
A flower vase on the table near the stairs.
He reached—fingers trembling, lungs burning—
And grabbed it.
SMASH!
The vase cracked against David's skull.
Shards flew.
The grip loosened.
David crumpled.
Billy gasped.
Eyes wide.
And then—
Voices in his head.
"Kill him, Billy…"
"Do it…"
"He destroyed everything…"
The rage boiled up. Years of it. All at once.
His eyes locked on the broken shards.
And just like that—He picked one up.
His hands shook.
His face twisted.
And he stabbed.
Once.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Throat. Chest. Face. Arms. Stomach.
Blood sprayed.
He screamed with each blow, tears streaming down his face.
"You sick old bastard!"
"You twisted… FUCK!"
"I put up with EVERYTHING! I kept my mouth shut! I didn't blame anyone—"
"But my life—my whole goddamn life—is nothing but SHIT—"
"MY LIFE IS SHIT!"
"MY DAD WAS SHIT!"
"YOU'RE SHIT!"
"FUCK THIS FARM!"
"FUCK THIS SCHOOL!"
"FUCK THIS LIFE!"
He sobbed.
But kept stabbing.
"You… YOU'RE the one I'll make sure dies right here."
"You're the reason Ma's dead."
"The reason Pa tried to kill me."
"AND You're the reason everything's GONE!"
He shrieked—foaming, slashing, shredding.
Didn't even count the stabs.
Just kept going.
The sounds of stabbing. Of tearing. Of crying.
And beneath all of it…
Music.
Soft.
A vintage radio in the corner played a sweet, dreamy tune by The Ink Spots.
A song too beautiful for the nightmare unfolding.
Finally—
Billy stopped.
Exhausted.
Spent.
His limbs heavy.
He hadn't slept since the nightmare began.
He looked around…
Then saw them.
Photos on a shelf.
Children. Boys. Girls.
All smiling.
Billy smiled, too. A soft, broken smile.
He laughed—softly.
Then collapsed.
Right beside the man who once called himself his "uncle."
But now…
He was just a corpse.
Billy closed his eyes.
He wanted to sleep.
Tonight… he didn't want to think anymore.
Tonight was too much.
…
The radio buzzed gently:
"…And that was a beautiful tune from The Ink Spots."
"Now it's time for the top-of-the-hour news."
The voice of a female reporter came on—calm and professional.
"In recent weeks, reports of missing persons continue to rise around the outskirts of Blackwell…"
"The most recent case involves a young woman in her twenties—a university student—who vanished while jogging behind St. Harlow's School…"
"She was last seen on Saturday evening. Witnesses say she often used the same trail…"
"This marks the sixth disappearance…"