"Liam! Nora! You're going to be late again!" Clara Johnson shouted from the kitchen. Her voice carried through the thin walls like a fire alarm.
At the table sat Mr. Blackwood, once the greedy landlord, now a hollow-eyed being squatter in his body. He hunched over a chipped bowl of cereal, spoon scraping slow circles. Milk dripped down his chin, but he didn't bother wiping it.
Clara slammed a bowl into the kitchen sink and shot a glare at the man sitting at the table.
"You never clean up after yourself," She snapped. "You live here like you're part of this family, but you do nothing!"
He chewed on lazily, his eyes fixed on nothing, ignoring the crumbs around him.
Clara stormed forward with a dish towel. "Do you even hear me? Or do you just sit there every morning, eating like a ghost in my house?"
Blackwood muttered, "Your house? That's funny."
The screen door creaked and in walked Peter Johnson, humming off-key, his tie looped wrong again. He kissed Clara's cheek before she could dodge. "Smells like… cereal. Morning, honey! Morning, Blackwood!"
"Don't morning me," Clara snapped, pointing at Blackwood. "Talk to him. He leaves crumbs, he leaves dishes, he leaves socks in the living room. He lives here like a stray cat."
Peter grinned, sliding into a chair. "Come on, Clara. He's adjusting. He's got… his own way of helping."
"Helping? He eats, he sleeps, and he sulks." She folded her arms. "Peter, he's useless."
Peter sipped his coffee. "Honey, you know he's been through a lot. Maybe cereal is how he heals."
Before Clara could answer, Liam thundered down the stairs, shirt untucked, one shoe barely laced. "Lunchbox, got it, now…Dad! Money?"
Peter laughed, thumbed through the bills, and handed over a wad. "Here you go, champ."
Clara's eyes widened. "Peter! That's twenty. For lunch?"
Peter shrugged. "Better too much than too little."
"Or you could try normal," Clara shot back.
Then Nora skipped in, her hair ribbons uneven, and lunchbox clutched tight. She stopped in front of Blackwood, tilted her head, and whispered sweetly, "Can I have a little extra?"
Blackwood didn't even look up. Instead, he let out a low groan, dug into his coat pocket, and dropped a crumpled note on the table.
Clara whipped around mid-argument. "Blackwood! I told you to stop letting them take advantage of you!"
Liam, who was already halfway to the door, ran back. "Hey, what about me?" He held out his hand. Blackwood wordlessly slid him another bill.
"Thanks, man!" Liam whooped, and bolted out. Nora followed, shouting, "Bye, losers!" The door banged shut behind them, their laughter ringing outside.
Clara froze, face flushed, and hand clenched tight around the dish towel. "That's it. I've had enough." She stepped closer, glaring at Blackwood. "Do you even care what this does to them? Or do you just hand out money because it shuts them up?"
Blackwood scraped the last of the cereal from his bowl.
He dropped his spoon, reached into his pocket, and let a handful of coins clatter into the milk. The sound echoed through the kitchen.
Clara stood, her mouth half open, caught off guard.
Blackwood finally raised his hollow eyes. "It shuts everyone up."
Then pushed his chair back, stood, and started toward the hallway without looking back.
Peter chuckled nervously, lifting his mug. "See? The man's practical."
Clara whipped around angrily.
"Blackwood!"