It was 2:00 AM. I found my sister in the basement. She was supposed to be in London with her husband. She was wearing a red silk slip dress, covered in bruises. Chains bound her hands and feet, and her legs were wrapped in layers of bloody red bandages. Seeing me, she looked terrified and whispered urgently: "Watch out for Mom and Dad!" 1 I wanted to ask my sister what was happening, but I heard footsteps upstairs. Someone was walking around. My gut told me to hide immediately. Just as I squeezed into an old wardrobe, someone came down the stairs. I peeked through the gap in the doors. It was Dad. He was carrying a plate of leftovers from last night’s dinner. It looked like slop. My sister trembled violently when she saw him. Dad grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open, and shoved the disgusting food down her throat. She gagged and vomited it all up. Dad didn’t get angry. He just stood there, watching her quietly. When she finished heaving, he started stuffing the food into her mouth again. Finally, the bowl was empty. Dad smiled at her, satisfied. Then he put down the bowl, walked over to her legs, and pulled a fruit knife from his pocket. He unwrapped the red bandages. I gasped silently. My sister's legs, once her pride, were now mangled and uneven. Some parts were festering with pus. Dad adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. If I remember correctly, my sister bought those for him with her first paycheck. I watched, horrified, as he raised the knife. It was the same knife I used to peel apples. Now, Dad was using it to slice pieces of flesh from my sister’s legs. One piece at a time. The smell of blood and rotting meat filled the room. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, trying not to scream. Dad suddenly looked up, staring straight at the wardrobe. I held my breath, paralyzed with fear. Luckily, he looked away after a few seconds. He cleaned up the mess, picked up the plate of fresh meat he had just carved from my sister, and left. Only when the footsteps faded did I dare to crawl out. My legs were jelly. I stumbled over to my sister. Her legs had been re-bandaged, but fresh blood was already seeping through. I looked at my dying sister in disbelief. Her own father did this to her. We are a blended family. My mom married my sister’s dad, bringing me along as "baggage." On the surface, we were a happy family. Especially my sister. Ever since she joined the family, my mom, who never liked me, started treating me better. I thought everything was improving. But just now, my sister told me my mom killed her mom. She said they are both murderers and warned me to be careful. I don't remember how I got back to my room. Lying in bed, I kept telling myself it was just a nightmare. When I wake up, my sister will still be in London with her husband. 2 When I went downstairs, Mom was busy in the kitchen. Dad, who looked like a monster last night, was sitting in the morning light reading the newspaper. Everything seemed peaceful. I sat opposite Dad, looking at the lavish breakfast, and asked tentatively, "Dad, where's sis?" Dad frowned, reaching over to feel my forehead with a look of concern. "Are you sick, honey? Your sister moved to London with your brother-in-law two years ago. You cried at the airport, remember?" Right. That's what happened. I watched them board the plane. Was it really just a dream? Mom came out of the kitchen with a bowl of meat soup and placed a large serving in front of me. She insisted I finish it. The soup looked delicious, but I hesitated. "Why aren't you eating? Don't you like it?" Mom asked, puzzled. I shook my head. "I like it. Thanks, Mom." I stirred the soup carefully. A slice of meat floated to the surface. Suddenly, the image from my dream flashed in my mind. I couldn't control it. I started vomiting violently. Mom rushed over, patting my back, asking worriedly, "Baby, do we need to go to the hospital?" This seemed normal, but it was anything but. Mom was never this caring before. I looked at Dad in terror. "What's wrong with you today? Acting weird all morning." No. Dad never spoke to me like that. He usually treated me like air. He never showed concern. The dread deepened. If this was real... Then the man I called Dad had locked his daughter in the basement, slicing her flesh to make soup. I couldn't handle it. I pinched my hand hard under the table, forcing myself to calm down. I took a deep breath. "I just didn't sleep well. You guys eat, I'm going back to bed." 3 As soon as I was out of sight, I ran to the basement. But when I got there, it was empty except for some old furniture. On the bed where my sister lay last night, there was a teddy bear. It was a birthday gift she gave me when I turned 18. No sister. No red bandages. It was a dream. I leaned against the wardrobe, gasping for air. But it felt so real. Then I saw something in the corner of the wardrobe. A button. From my pajamas. I was hiding here last night. "Jane, what are you doing here?" I spun around. Dad was standing behind me. Still wearing those gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze sharp, piercing right through me. I suppressed my panic and picked up the bear. "I missed sis, so I came to find the bear she gave me." I hoped he bought it. Dad stared at me like a cold-blooded snake flicking its tongue, examining my face inch by inch. After a long pause, he said, "Take your things and go. Don't come down here again." I hugged the bear and walked out, pretending to be happy but complaining, "Sis is so heartless. She hasn't called once since she left." Dad followed me at a distance. I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head. He said calmly, "Your sister just moved. She's busy. Don't bother her with calls." Right! I can call her. She topped up my phone card with $100 before she left. I never used it. The idea grew in my mind. Back in my room with the door locked, I pulled out my phone and dialed her number. "We're sorry, your service has been suspended due to insufficient funds." I froze. I never used this card. How could it be out of money? Panic set in. The Wi-Fi was disconnected. No signal on my phone. I couldn't contact my brother-in-law. I couldn't call for help. 4 From that morning on, I felt weak and listless every day. And every day, Mom brought me meat soup without fail. Looking at the meat slices, thinking they might be my sister, I felt sick. I didn't want to drink it. But I couldn't control myself. I heard Mom say, "Drink another sip," and my body obeyed. I felt possessed. When I finished the last drop, Mom smiled satisfied. She put down the bowl and said I deserved a reward. Then she helped me to the basement. My sister was there again. Still on that bed, still covered in blood. More bandages this time. Mom sat me on a stool near the bed. She slowly unwrapped the bandages. My sister's body was a mess of raw flesh. Mom found a relatively smooth patch and raised the knife. She muttered, "Baby doesn't like soup? How about sashimi?" "This big fish was a gift from your dad's friend. Very fresh." "Baby will love it." Sister's face was bandaged, but her eyes screamed agony. "Here, baby. Your favorite sashimi." Mom held a slice of bloody meat. My sister's meat. She fed it to me. I watched Mom carve it from my sister's body. And now I was eating it. My sister looked at me with disbelief, anger, and finally, despair. I screamed internally: No! That's my sister! I can't eat her! But no one could hear me.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "387116", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel