"Happy birthday!"
The warm light in the living room spilled over a pale yellow tablecloth, wrapping the space in a cozy, almost surreal atmosphere. Larry's mom and dad entered through the front door carrying a white box, accompanied by Larry's siblings, all smiling as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong.
His siblings' smiles never seemed forced. From this new perspective, Larry realized something he had never noticed before: his parents never came home burdened by work. They always returned with a smile, as if the worries of the outside world didn't exist. They never looked tired, even after being out all day.
Larry gently lifted the kitchen curtain and walked out with a tray of freshly prepared food. He didn't say a word to his parents. He sat alone, in silence, at the dining table.
"This kid…" his father murmured, shaking his head in resignation. Then he took off his wet raincoat and shoes, placing them on a small rack near the entrance.
Larry's father wore a well-pressed, spotless suit that enhanced his elegant figure and tall stature. He looked like a gentleman out of a magazine. His mother, on the other hand, wore a white blouse and jeans, radiating a calm sweetness and capable energy.
As she walked toward the nearest bathroom, she complimented Larry's cooking skills with a smile. Once inside, she tossed her dirty clothes into the hamper.
The sound of running water echoed. But when she finished washing her hands, a few drops of dark red remained on the edge of the sink.
If Dexter had seen them, he would've said without hesitation: "That's blood."
"It's your birthday today…" his mother said from the hallway. "No matter how busy we are, we'll always come home to be with you."
But Larry didn't seem to hear her. He didn't lift his eyes or respond. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the television, listening closely to the news.
"The killer has reappeared on a rainy night!"
"A third murder has occurred in the Miami suburbs!"
"Police have identified the suspect! Please don't panic—lock your doors and windows, and avoid going out at night!"
A knot tightened in his chest. Larry looked up, anxiously scanning his surroundings to check if any door had been left open.
Rain pounded hard against the window glass. Outside, the wind howled like a lost wolf. Inside, the steaming food sat on the table, creating a—
"Why are you always watching the news? You're scaring your siblings." Larry's father grabbed the remote, lowered the volume, and added with concern, "Some media love to stir anxiety and tragedy just to grab attention."
Larry didn't respond. His eyes wandered silently, examining the small, warm house filled with so many memories.
All the walls were covered with acoustic insulation and sound-absorbing paint. Unless a brutal fight broke out inside, the neighbors would never suspect a thing.
The living room was no longer what it used to be. In its place stood a special refrigerator, cooled by a ventilation system that constantly pumped air to keep the temperature low. The meat stored inside didn't smell, didn't rot easily, and most importantly, didn't draw attention.
Numerous plastic bags were stacked in the kitchen. They were small—just the right size to hold a fist-sized chunk of meat. Easy to handle, easy to seal… easy to make disappear.
Behind the bathroom door, a folded plastic anti-leak cover rested neatly. If someone wanted to cover the entire bathroom with it, they'd have no problem.
Larry had noticed all these details upon waking in that house. None of them had gone unnoticed.
The overall decor was surprisingly welcoming. Warm. Familiar. But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"Come have some cake. Your father and I brought it through the rain," his mother said gently, having finished washing her hands.
She carefully unwrapped the cake and placed thirty candles on it, one by one.
"Eleven…" Larry was turning eleven this year, and the number of candles was incorrect.
"Aren't you going to make a wish?" Larry's father lit the candles, and then his brother turned off the lights.
Darkness enveloped the living room. The flickering firelight illuminated the faces of his family. They looked at Larry in the darkness, wearing strange smiles.
They looked exactly like the family he remembered—even the curve of their mouths was identical.
Larry could feel his mom and dad drawing closer, their bodies seeming to shift into a space where the firelight could no longer reach.
"I hope Mom and Dad can stay with me forever." This was the first time Larry had spoken since his parents came home.
In truth, Larry loved his mom and dad very much. And his mom and dad also loved him deeply. No matter how busy they were, they always came home to see him at night.
But this was a dream—one he couldn't wake up from, and it only happened when he drank too much. Ironically, the only reason he drank was to forget a bit of his responsibilities.
Freedom and consequences…
The lights turned back on, and Larry's back was drenched in cold sweat. He blew out the candles one by one, cleaned them, and placed them in a metal box that already held many others.
"A wish won't come true if you say it out loud. Next time, say it silently, in your heart." Larry's dad seemed very hungry and began to eat in large bites.
Larry's mother looked at her son lovingly and picked up the utensils to bring him something to eat.
Larry didn't touch the food he had cooked. He placed a piece of cake in front of himself. Silently, he counted his heartbeats and gently rubbed the calluses on his fingertips.
"Breaking news!"
"It's highly likely that the killer will move into the residential area tonight, taking advantage of the rain! Once again, we urge residents of the old town: keep doors and windows shut, and under no circumstances open the door to strangers."
The news anchor's voice was tense, broken by static.
"According to police reports, the so-called Rainy Night Killer is estimated to be between 20 and 30 years old, and approximately 1.75 to 1.85 meters tall…"
Without warning, the TV volume suddenly spiked. No one had the remote in hand. Just that chilling buzz of voices and rain mixed together, flooding the room with an unwanted echo.
Fifteen minutes later, after quietly studying his mother's and father's faces—so perfect, so serene—Larry took a small spoonful of cake cream. He brought it slowly to his mouth, as if each movement weighed twice as much. The silence around him pressed down, though the news still murmured from the screen.
The rich milky aroma and sweet flavor melted in his mouth, as if he had swallowed an entire fairy tale in a single bite.
Crack!
His mother, just about to get up and serve the soup, collapsed to the floor. Her arms flailed unconsciously, and her eyelids slowly closed.
When his father saw his wife fall, he tried to help her but felt as if his body was filled with lead—he could barely move.
The dose was a bit high. Even though this wasn't the first time I've done something like this, I still feel nervous.
Larry's hands stopped trembling. He looked at his mother and father lying on the ground with a strange expression on his face.
"Alright, let's begin…"