Evening arrived quietly, like a faint light emerging at the end of a long tunnel.
The front door opened.
Liam Austin stepped inside.
For a moment, he stood perfectly still.
His eyes moved slowly across the hallway, scanning every corner of the house.
Then he saw it.
Blood stained the floorboards.
Nearby lay a shattered vase and a fallen dagger.
Liam stared at them in silence.
Several seconds passed.
Slowly, he bit down on his lower lip.
Hard.
His fists tightened.
But he said nothing.
Then he began to walk.
His steps were steady, almost mechanical.
Carefully avoiding the stains on the floor, he moved toward the kitchen and looked inside.
Empty.
No voices.
No movement.
Nothing.
Without hesitation, he turned away and continued down the hallway.
Next came the living room.
It, too, was empty.
The old furniture sat motionless beneath the fading evening light, creating a scene so ordinary that it felt unnatural.
Liam remained there for several seconds.
Then his gaze drifted toward the bathroom door.
He approached it slowly.
His hand settled on the handle.
The door opened.
For a brief moment, he looked inside.
Then he closed it again.
No reaction.
No scream.
No tears.
Only silence.
Liam remained standing there.
One minute passed.
Then another.
And another.
Suddenly, he grabbed his thumb and began biting into it compulsively.
Again.
And again.
And again.
As though he were trying to wake himself from a nightmare.
"Shit…"
His voice was barely audible.
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."
The words kept repeating.
Over and over.
His breathing became uneven.
Then his eyes wandered around the room.
The old television caught his attention.
Liam walked toward it.
He stood in front of it for a moment, staring blankly.
First at the television.
Then at the ceiling.
Then back at the television.
Without warning, he drove his fist into it.
The screen shattered and collapsed.
The impact echoed through the room.
Liam stared at the broken remains.
His hand trembled slightly.
But he paid it no attention.
Instead, he turned away.
Back into the hallway.
Back toward the staircase.
And suddenly, every step felt heavier than the last.
He did not want to go upstairs.
A part of him already knew what waited there.
He wanted to leave.
To run.
To pretend none of this existed.
But the outcome would remain the same.
And Liam knew it.
So he climbed.
One step.
Then another.
And another.
Until finally he reached the second floor.
A narrow hallway stretched before him.
At the very end stood a door.
Slightly open.
Waiting.
Liam stared at it for several moments before beginning to walk.
His footsteps seemed impossibly loud.
Every step carried fear.
And something else.
Something darker.
Envy.
When he finally reached the door, he pushed it open completely.
The room was crowded with old furniture and forgotten belongings.
Cabinets.
Sofas.
Lamps.
Wooden planks.
Years of neglected possessions stacked together like relics of a forgotten life.
At the center of the room stood a large bed covered by a dusty sheet.
Arthur sat upon it.
He looked exhausted.
His clothing was torn and stained from the events of the day. Bandages improvised from strips of cloth were wrapped around several injuries, evidence of a struggle that had pushed him to his limits.
Yet despite his condition, he remained upright.
Waiting.
His elbows rested upon his knees.
His hands were clasped together.
Beside him lay a large axe.
Not gripped.
Not raised.
Simply resting there.
Within reach.
Across from the bed sat a single chair.
Positioned directly toward Arthur.
As though it had been placed there intentionally.
Waiting for someone.
Waiting for Liam.
Near the chair lay Annie's body.
Liam's eyes lingered on it for only a moment.
Then he looked away.
Slowly, he walked forward.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Fear sat inside his chest.
But envy sat there too.
A quiet, poisonous envy.
Within moments, he reached the chair.
He lowered himself into it carefully.
Then he looked at Arthur.
Only briefly.
A second later, his gaze fell toward the floor.
Neither man spoke.
The room became utterly silent.
Outside, evening continued its slow descent into night.
Inside, two men sat facing one another.
One surrounded by death.
The other surrounded by questions.
And for twenty long minutes—
Neither of them said a single word.
The silence lingered between them until Liam finally broke it.
"Is my father dead too?"
His voice was weak, trembling beneath a layer of fear he could no longer hide.
Arthur did not answer. Instead, he stared at him for a moment and asked, "Where is she?"
"I-in... in the basement."
"Is she alive?"
Liam hesitated. His eyes remained fixed on the floor as he slowly nodded.
Arthur studied him carefully. Liam refused to return the gaze.
After a long pause, Liam spoke again.
"Why? Why didn't you stop me last night? Why didn't you stop me from kidnapping her?"
Arthur tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. A moment later, his eyes drifted toward the window before finally settling on Liam once more.
"I hoped that if I let the rat take the bait, it would lead me back to its hole." His voice was calm, almost indifferent. "And guess what? I found the entire family of rats."
Silence followed.
Neither of them spoke for nearly a minute.
Then Arthur broke it.
"Don't you want to kill me? Or at least try?" he asked. "Every member of your family attacked me in one way or another. Yet you've been cooperating the whole time. Why?"
Liam ignored the question.
"Is my father dead?"
This time Arthur noticed something different in his voice. There was weight behind the words. Something genuine.
Slowly, Arthur nodded.
For a second Liam remained motionless.
Then a wide smile spread across his face.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
Using his fingernails, Liam began scratching at his own skin. First his cheeks. Then his forehead. Then everywhere he could reach. The scratching grew more violent with every passing second until thin wounds opened across his face and blood began trickling down his skin.
He winced in pain.
Yet his smile never disappeared.
Arthur watched him with visible surprise.
"You know," Liam said through a breathless laugh, "I'm so envious of you."
"Envious?" Arthur replied. "Of what?"
"Of what you just did."
Liam's smile widened further.
"I've wanted to do that for years. Every single day I imagined it. Every night I dreamed about slashing their throats with my knife." His voice grew heavier, filled with years of buried hatred. "You can't imagine how much I despised them."
Arthur remained silent.
Liam laughed again.
"I should be thanking you."
Arthur stared at him for a moment before asking, "One question. Is there a landline phone somewhere in this house?"
Liam blinked.
"Yes. Why?"
Arthur tightened his grip around the handle of his axe and slowly rose to his feet.
"Because your fate isn't going to be any better than those bugs."
The words struck Liam like a hammer.
Instantly the anger vanished.
The envy vanished.
Even the excitement disappeared.
All that remained was fear.
Pure fear.
For a brief moment Liam felt something inside him crack apart.
He stared at Arthur in disbelief as the reality of the situation finally caught up to him.
"Wait!" he shouted, scrambling backward across the floor. "Wait! This isn't supposed to happen! Why are you doing this?"
Arthur stood over him, axe in hand.
"Why are you sounding like the victim?" he asked coldly. "You're no different from them."
Liam shook his head desperately.
"You're insane. Delusional. A complete maniac."
"No... no... NO!" Liam screamed. "This can't be happening!"
His breathing became frantic.
"I let you know me! I told you everything! And now you're doing this?"
"I don't think there's any point in talking anymore."
Arthur raised the axe.
The movement alone shattered whatever composure Liam had left.
His legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed onto the floor. Panic flooded every corner of his mind as he stared at the weapon hanging above him.
For the first time, death felt real.
Not distant.
Not theoretical.
Real.
Then suddenly an idea flashed through his mind.
A desperate thought.
A faint hope.
"WAIT!" he shouted. "Wait! They made me do it! The kidnapping—I didn't do it on my own!"
Arthur froze.
The axe stopped in midair.
"They?" Arthur asked slowly. "Who? Your family?"
"No... no..." Liam said, shaking his head violently.
His eyes widened as terror and desperation fought for control of his face.
"I don't mean my family."
Arthur's expression hardened.
"Then who?"
Liam swallowed.
"I mean...They."
Arthur stared at him, confusion flickering across his face.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
To Arthur's surprise, relief immediately spread across Liam's expression. It was subtle at first, but unmistakable. The panic that had consumed him moments ago seemed to ease, as though he had finally found something capable of saving his life. Arthur noticed it instantly.
"Explain it," he said, lowering the axe slightly but not enough to make Liam comfortable. "What do you mean by 'They'?"
Liam swallowed hard before forcing a nervous smile onto his bloodied face.
"They don't have a name," he said. "At least not one that we know. So me and my family always referred to them as 'They'."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"But what are they? And you said they made you do it. Start talking clearly, because if I don't like what I hear, this axe is going straight through your skull."
The threat worked.
Liam's smile disappeared, replaced by frantic urgency.
"I-I don't know much, okay? I swear I don't." His words tumbled out rapidly. "There are people. A group, I think. Maybe an organization. I don't know what they really are, but they're dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Usually they leave us alone and let us do whatever we want as long as we complete one or two tasks they give us every month."
Arthur remained silent for a moment.
"What kind of tasks?"
Liam looked away.
"Different things. Sometimes burning down a house. Sometimes killing someone. Sometimes something else." His voice grew quieter. "I never asked questions."
Arthur's grip tightened around the axe.
"And your family just obeyed?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Arthur stared at him.
"You don't know?"
Liam shook his head desperately.
"My father never told me. All I know is that we've been following their orders for as long as I can remember. My dad once told me we were serving them even before I was born."
For the first time, Arthur felt genuine curiosity creeping into his mind. The story sounded absurd, yet Liam's fear seemed real. Too real. He wasn't speaking like a man inventing a lie. He sounded like someone terrified of something far beyond the room they were standing in.
Arthur slowly lowered the axe to his side.
"How do they contact you?"
"They never show themselves."
"What?"
"They never come personally. They never speak to us face-to-face." Liam wiped blood from his cheek. "Usually they send letters. Instructions. Tasks. That's how it always works."
Arthur remained silent, allowing him to continue.
"You remember the café?"
Arthur's expression hardened.
"The day you saw me with your girlfriend?"
Liam nodded.
"I had no intention of kidnapping her when I went there. None."
Arthur said nothing.
"Do you remember there was another couple inside the café?"
Arthur searched his memory. He vaguely remembered seeing a man and a woman seated elsewhere in the room, but he couldn't recall their faces. At the time he had paid them no attention.
Liam continued.
"They left before we did. While they were leaving, the man walked past my table." He swallowed. "As he passed by, he slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"A letter."
Liam nodded.
"A task."
The room fell silent.
Arthur began carefully assembling every piece of information. He replayed Liam's words in his head, examining them from every possible angle. He searched for contradictions, gaps, signs of deception. Yet the more he thought about it, the more curious he became.
If Liam was lying, it was an unusually elaborate lie.
If he was telling the truth, then this situation had become far larger than a simple kidnapping.
The thought sent a strange feeling through Arthur. A mixture of caution and excitement.
Finally he spoke.
"Anything else?"
Liam immediately shook his head.
"N-No. That's everything. I swear." His voice cracked. "I told you everything I know. Please... just let me go."
He looked up at Arthur with desperate eyes.
"I had nothing to do with any of this. You seem like a good person. So please... spare me."
Arthur looked down at him for several seconds.
His face remained completely expressionless.
Then he spoke.
"I ain't a good person."
Liam's eyes widened.
Arthur raised the axe.
For a brief moment, the room became perfectly still.
Then the axe came down.
A scream tore through the air.
Arthur raised it again.
And it came down once more.
Several minutes later, Arthur stood silently in the aftermath.
His gaze drifted toward Liam's motionless body before he looked away. There was blood on his cheek, smeared there at some point during the ordeal. He wiped at it absentmindedly, then let his hand fall to his side. The axe slipped from his fingers and struck the floor with a dull thud.
The adrenaline that had carried him this far was beginning to fade.
Pain took its place.
Every wound reminded him of its existence. Blood loss had left him weak, dizzy, and unsteady. One hand pressed firmly against his stomach while the other dragged itself along the wall for support. Even breathing felt difficult now. The house seemed larger than before, every hallway longer, every step heavier.
Still, he forced himself forward.
When he reached the staircase, he paused. Looking up felt like staring at the peak of a mountain. Gathering what little strength remained in his body, he lifted a foot and took the first step.
Then another.
And another.
Each one demanded more effort than the last.
Halfway through, his legs finally gave out.
The exhaustion that had been building throughout the night overwhelmed him, and he crashed back onto the floor below. His head struck the ground, sending a sharp wave of pain through his body. For several minutes he remained there, staring blankly at the ceiling, too drained to move.
The silence of the house pressed in around him.
Eventually, Arthur clenched his jaw and forced himself upright.
Standing felt like a victory in itself.
For a moment he remained in the hallway, breathing heavily. His eyes settled on the basement door behind him. He stared at it without expression.
Then he turned away.
Whatever had happened down there was over.
Slowly, he made his way into the living room. His eyes searched the room, scanning every corner until they found what he was looking for.
A landline telephone.
Arthur walked toward it and picked up the receiver.
His fingers dialed 112.
After a few moments, the line connected.
"Hello. Police department. How may I assist you?"
Arthur remained silent for a second.
Then he spoke.
"The Austins killed me."
Before the operator could respond, he hung up.
The receiver swung gently against its cord.
Arthur took a deep breath and continued moving.
Back through the hallway.
Toward the front door.
Outside, the cool air met him immediately.
A short distance away sat his car.
Under normal circumstances it would have been a trivial walk.
Now it felt endless.
Every step demanded determination. Every movement sent pain through his exhausted body. More than once he thought his legs would fail him again, but somehow he kept going.
At last he reached the vehicle.
He opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, and rested there for a moment. His hands trembled slightly as they found the steering wheel.
Then he started the engine.
The headlights cut through the darkness.
Without looking back at the house, Arthur drove away.
Years later, the events of that day would become known by a single name:
The Austin House Massacre.
Chapter ends
To be continued