I was sixteen when my parents stopped sending money—to both Uncle Luke and me.
That was when he showed his true colors.
Every afternoon, he would pound frantically on my door, his voice filled with rage. Our morning breakfast routine had long stopped by then.
He shouted, cursed, and called me useless—over and over again.
One evening, through his drunken slurs, he told me my parents had abandoned me. He said they'd just had another child—a boy—and didn't need me anymore.
I didn't cry. I just listened in silence, staring at the wall, waiting for his voice to fade.
Each evening followed the same pattern. He'd leave the house around sunset and stumble back around ten, reeking of alcohol, shouting curses at my door before collapsing into his room.
And then the next day, he'd do it all over again.
It became the new normal.
That new routine went on for about three months—day after day, the same shouting, the same drunken nights.
Then, one fateful evening, everything changed.
Uncle Luke went out as usual, but when he came back later that night, he said nothing. No curses. No shouting. No pounding at my door. He just went straight into his room.
The silence felt strange—too strange.
It wrapped around the house like a warning.
Still, I tried to push the unease aside and force myself to sleep, making sure my door was locked.
But around 11:56 p.m., I suddenly woke up, my throat dry. I was thirsty. The house was quiet—eerily quiet.
Thinking Uncle Luke must have fallen asleep by now, I decided to step out and get some water.
If only I knew.
I got out of bed and quietly opened my door. The house was still and dark.
I walked toward the kitchen, passing through the living room. The kitchen light flickered to life as I poured myself a glass of water. I was wearing a tank top and shorts—barely thinking about it, just half-asleep and thirsty.
Then, suddenly, a cold shiver ran down my spine.
I turned around slowly.
There—on the sofa in the living room—sat Uncle Luke.
He wasn't asleep. He was just sitting there, watching me.
The look in his eyes made my stomach twist and my heartbeat quicken.
I froze, unable to move or breathe, the glass trembling in my hand.
Something was very wrong.