Mama didn't come the next morning.
Usually, I hear her voice through the hatch right after the birds start singing. But that day, there was only silence, and the sky outside the window looked cloudy and strange — like the clouds had forgotten how to float.
I called for her.
Just once.
Because Rule Three says "Never shout. Shouting makes them hear you."
I don't know who "them" are.
But I imagine they're the same ones who live under the floor and whisper at night.
Later, I heard the soft thump of footsteps on the stairs.
Mama finally opened the hatch and slipped in my food tray.
Beans again. With cold toast.
But no voice this time. Just her hand. And then she was gone.
I didn't eat.
Not because I wasn't hungry.
But because something felt… wrong. Like when I draw a face and the eyes don't match.
I sat against the wall and looked at the tiger drawing she put up months ago.
"Do you think she's mad?" I whispered to it.
The tiger didn't answer.
I named him Mr. Claws.
He's brave. I'm not.
Later that day, Mama came back.
She didn't bring food. She didn't ask about my drawings.
She opened the hatch — just a little — and her eyes peeked through. They looked red and tired.
"Lucas," she said, "do you remember the rules?"
I nodded.
"Can you say them for me?"
I stood up. It felt like an exam.
I tried to remember them in order.
"Never open the door at the bottom of the stairs… Never look out the window at night… Never talk to strangers… and always love Mama."
Her eyes blinked. Slowly.
"Good boy," she said. "You're my good boy."
Then she slid something through the hatch.
A new book.
It didn't have a title.
It was wrapped in brown paper, with only one word written on it in black marker:
"TRUTH"
I didn't open it right away.
I placed it under my pillow.
Because some things aren't for daytime.
And maybe… this book is one of those things Mama doesn't want me to read. Even though she gave it to me.
That night, I stayed up late.
I held the book in my hands.
And for the first time ever, I thought about breaking a rule.