Chapter 2

She ran through the narrow passage, her heart pounding like a war drum, the echo of her own steps chasing her as much as her son’s silence did. He did not follow immediately. He stood there, watching her flee, his head tilted to the side, neck twitching as if some unseen hand was pulling invisible strings. His lips curled into a faint, almost childish smile, but his eyes remained sharp and merciless.

“Always running,” he whispered to himself, his voice calm, too calm. “Always leaving.”

The basement door creaked.

From behind it, the sound of metal scraping concrete reached his ears. A faint, muffled cry followed barely audible, but enough to stir the evil inside him. He shut the door quickly before his mother could hear more, then turned back to the dining table where her bag still rested. He picked it up, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume, and slammed it against the wall until its contents spilled across the floor.

Upstairs, she had made it to the front door. Her trembling hands fumbled with the lock, but her ears caught the sound of his footsteps approaching slowly, deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey.

“Mom,” he called out, his voice strange and funny, like he was mocking the lullaby he had sung in the basement. “Do you remember when you used to hum me to sleep? Before you decided I wasn’t worth the trouble?”

She forced the lock open and stumbled out into the night, barefoot, the gravel tearing into her soles as she ran. The street was silent, the lamps flickering as though even the light itself was afraid to linger.

Behind her, the house door slammed shut.

He did not chase.

Instead, he stood at the window, staring into the darkness where she had disappeared, the cold night air brushing against his blood stained shirt. He locked the door slowly, and walked back to the basement.

Descending the steps, he hummed again. The tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star filled the air, twisting into something fearful with each note. The whimpers grew louder.

At the bottom of the stairs, the dim bulb flickered, illuminating a figure chained against the wall. Another young boy, wide eyed, gagged with a filthy cloth, blood trickling from shallow cuts that marked his skin like tally marks on a prisoner’s wall. His chest heaved with panic as he saw the man approach.

The man crouched in front of him, the same smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ll keep me company tonight,” he whispered, brushing a bloodied hand across the boy’s trembling cheek. “Mother will be back… they always come back. But until then…”

He reached for the table beside him, where the pocket knife gleamed under the weak bulb. He twitched his neck again, his expression darkening, unreadable.

Above, the faint sound of police sirens wailed in the distance.

He froze, knife in hand, then turned his gaze back to the boy, who was shaking violently in his chains. A low chuckle escaped his throat, and he leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper:

“Looks like we’ll have an audience tonight.”

The sirens grew louder. The house seemed to close in with shadows.

And then, the lights went out.