Chapter 2

I didn't have any weapons that I could defend myself with. I wasn't even wearing a shirt. I didn't care about convincing Dad that I didn't do anything wrong anymore as I clutched his sleeve and frantically pleaded with him.

"I've learned my lesson, Dad! It's all my fault. Please don't kick me out. I haven't finished doing the chores yet! Let me in now. The killer's here!"

Dad wanted to take advantage of the situation and demand that I get on my knees and apologize. However, when he looked up, he saw the killer rushing in our direction with his knife raised.

He forgot to close the door in his panic. He grabbed Miles and rushed into the bedroom, locking the door behind him. "Run, Miles! There's a crazy killer!"

The man was nearly upon me by the time I scrambled up from the floor. He was mentally ill, getting the urge to kill anyone he laid eyes on. I shoved him away with all my might and tried to slam the door shut.

A hand shot into the gap between the door and the doorframe. A few seconds later, a tremendous force collided against the door.

I was weaker than him no matter how I struggled. The killer pressed his face into the gap. He let out an eerie giggle before saying, "I love it when they struggle. You can't escape."

He managed to force his way through the gap the moment the words left his lips.

I frantically backed away, trying to find something that I could use as a temporary weapon. However, there was no such thing in sight. Only then did I recall that Dad had hidden all the sharp objects in the house because he was worried that Miles might accidentally hurt himself with them.

With no other option left to me, I snatched up the ashtray and smashed it against the killer's head. However, the manic glint in his eyes seemed to intensify after being attacked. He let out a sinister laugh as he licked the blood on his face, saying, "Delicious. But it'll taste even better with your blood mixed in."

The killer lunged at me, forcing me to back up against the bedroom door.

Dad and Miles were inside. I desperately wished that they would open the door for me. I banged against the door with all my might and shouted at the top of my lungs, "I'm begging you, Dad! Please open the door! There's a baseball bat in the room. You can just give it to me.

"I'm really going to die. What are you going to do if that happens?"

The killer sliced a huge gash on my arm, causing blood to spurt out in an endless stream. He was standing right before me.

I hissed in pain and began shouting even more frantically. "Please save me, Dad! I'm begging you! I'm your son too. He just cut me. It hurts so much."

However, there was only silence on the other side of the door, as if the people inside were terrified that the killer would know that they were there.

The killer sliced me over and over again, leaving 108 cuts on me. He only left with a satisfied expression after reducing me to a bloody pulp.

The tightly closed door finally creaked open just as my consciousness was about to fade.

Dad hugged Miles as they looked at my corpse. He repeatedly patted Miles' shoulder as he said in a relieved tone, "Thank goodness we didn't open the door. We would have ended up like your brother if we did.

"Don't blame me for being cruel, Luke. I would make the same decision if I was put in the same situation again. You died because we didn't open the door, but all three of us would have died if we did open the door.

"Both you and Miles are my sons—my flesh and blood. How could I have wanted you to die? Rest in peace. I'll arrange your funeral for you."

Truth be told, Dad was right. Humans would choose the option that benefited themselves the most in the face of danger. But I had still hoped that they would open the door for me. After all, being stabbed to death was so painful.