"Happy birthday!"
The living room lights spilled across the pale yellow tablecloth, filling the space with warmth as Mom and Dad walked in carrying a cake.
They never brought the frustrations of work home with them. Both wore smiles on their faces—busy all day, yet showing no sign of exhaustion.
Pulling aside the kitchen curtain, Gavin Moore stepped out with the freshly cooked dishes. He didn't speak to his parents. He sat alone at one side of the table.
"This kid…" Dad shook his head helplessly as he took off his raincoat and rubber boots, then carefully placed Mom's slippers by her feet.
Dad looked sharp and gentlemanly in his tailored suit—tall and handsome. Mom, wearing a white blouse and jeans, was warm yet capable. She praised Gavin's cooking before tossing her dirty clothes into the bathroom.
Water began to run. After Mom washed her hands, a few dark red stains still lingered in the sink.
"Today's your birthday. No matter how busy we are, we'll always come back to celebrate with you."
Gavin seemed not to hear them. His head was lowered as he listened intently to the news on TV.
"The Rainy Night Killer strikes again! A third murder has occurred in the Old Town district!"
"Police have locked onto a suspect! Citizens are urged not to panic—lock your doors and windows and avoid going out late at night!"
Rain battered the windows. Outside, the wind howled. Inside, hot dishes steamed—an unsettling contrast.
"Why do you keep watching this kind of news?" Dad picked up the remote, concern in his voice. "Some media outlets thrive on fear and tragedy."
Gavin didn't answer. His gaze shifted quietly as he scanned the warm little apartment.
Every wall had been reinforced with soundproofing and coated with acoustic paint. As long as nothing too violent happened, the neighbors would never know what went on inside.
The living room had a brand-new frost-free refrigerator—fan-cooled, keeping meat fresh without odor.
The kitchen was stocked with resealable bags, just the right size for fist-sized chunks of meat, easy to carry. Beneath the counter were chemical heat packs—mix them with water and they accelerated decomposition.
So… part of the meat goes into the fridge, part gets taken out and buried separately?
Behind the bathroom door lay plastic waterproof sheeting, enough to cover the entire floor.
That must be where the meat was processed.
And of course, anything handled in the bathroom like that… wasn't normal meat.
Just staring at the spotless floor made disturbing images surface in Gavin's mind.
The apartment's décor was warm and cozy—yet his hands trembled slightly.
"Come on, have some cake," Mom said after washing up. "Your dad and I braved the storm to get it."
She opened the box and carefully inserted eighteen candles.
"Eighteen…" Gavin was twenty-six years old. The number was wrong.
"Make a wish," Dad said as he lit the candles. Mom turned off the lights.
Darkness swallowed the living room. Candle flames flickered, illuminating Mom and Dad's faces as they stared at Gavin with identical smiles.
Truly identical—down to the precise curve of their lips.
Gavin could feel them drawing closer. In places the candlelight couldn't reach, their bodies seemed to be… changing.
"I wish Mom and Dad could stay with me forever."
It was the first time Gavin had spoken since they came home. He loved his parents deeply. And they loved him too—no matter how busy they were, they always came back to see him every night.
The lights snapped back on. Cold sweat soaked Gavin's back. He removed the candles one by one, wiped them clean, and placed them into a metal box already filled with many others.
"If you say a wish out loud, it won't come true," Dad said as he ate hungrily. Mom watched Gavin fondly and picked food for him with her chopsticks.
Gavin didn't touch the meal he'd cooked. He set a slice of cake in front of him, counted his heartbeat, and gently rubbed the calluses on his fingertips.
"Breaking news! The Rainy Night Killer may have entered a residential area! Old Town residents—lock your doors and do not open them for strangers!"
"According to police, the suspect is between twenty and thirty years old, approximately 5'9" to 6'1" tall…"
About fifteen minutes later, after observing his parents closely, Gavin scooped a bit of frosting into his mouth.
The rich cream melted on his tongue—sweet and overwhelming, like swallowing an entire fairy tale.
Bang!
Mom collapsed to the floor as she was about to serve soup. Her arms twitched weakly, her eyelids fluttering shut.
Dad rushed to help her—then froze. His body felt filled with lead. He could barely move his legs.
"The dosage was a bit high," Gavin murmured. "Even though it's not the first time I've done this… I still get nervous."
His trembling stopped. He stared at his fallen parents, his expression unreadable.
"I still don't understand why this is happening," he said quietly. "Am I insane… or is the world?"
Gavin opened the closet and took out restraint straps meant for psychiatric patients, expertly binding both Mom and Dad.
The news about the Rainy Night Killer continued. The storm raged on—but none of it seemed to matter anymore.
He dragged their unconscious bodies to the bedroom door.
Gavin loved his parents. They loved him. No matter how busy they were, they always came home at night.
But—
He shoved the bedroom door open.
Chains rattled.
Dozens of familiar yet alien faces stared back at him—smiling grotesquely.
The bedroom was packed with Moms and Dads.
Their bodies were tangled together.
Their expressions were not human.
Gavin's parents came home every night—but the ones who came back were never truly his parents. Even if he tied them up, new ones would return the next night.
"Are they people? Monsters? Or monsters shaped like people?"
Bound figures inside the bedroom opened their mouths slowly. Bloodshot veins filled their eyes. Like fish thrown onto shore, they thrashed violently, struggling as a hoarse voice rasped from their throats—
"Stay here."
"Stay here!!!"
Lighting a cigarette, Gavin leaned against the doorframe and silently watched.
He'd been trapped in this apartment for three days.
And it had all started three days ago.
On the night of the Ghost Festival, Gavin resigned from his job as a psychological counselor at Blackridge Maximum-Security Prison, planning to go full-time into game design.
At exactly 11 p.m., he boarded the last bus from Riverport City back to Harbor City. On the ride, he was designing a small game meant to strengthen family bonds—so he even embedded an ad for his landlord's cake shop to make ends meet.
The idea was simple: parents should spend more time with their children, come home every night, talk to them, and never ignore their feelings. Caring was responsibility. Staying was love.
Passengers gradually disappeared.
Around 1 a.m., the bus inexplicably stopped inside a tunnel.
Gavin removed his headphones and stood up—only to find the bus completely empty.
Even the driver was gone.
He grabbed his luggage and stepped off. Hearing voices ahead, he followed quietly.
After that, his memory broke apart.
He didn't even know how he made it home—only that he had seen something truly horrifying.
Terrified, he locked himself inside.
At 3 a.m., knocking woke him.
When he opened the door, his parents stood there, holding a cake.
He invited them in and went to fetch slippers—
Then his phone rang.
It was his mother.
She said the city would have heavy rain for days, told him to take care of himself and stay safe.
Cold terror raced up Gavin's spine.
He turned around.
Mom and Dad stood behind him, heads lowered, side by side.
Cake. Companionship. Parents.
The game he designed had become reality—with a few minor changes.
He tried to escape, but beyond the security door was nothing but pitch-black gloom, like a gateway to another broken world.
With no choice, Gavin tried to clear his own game.
How hard could a family-bonding game be after it mutated?
Turn off the lights—parents become monsters.
They come back every night.
Hide in a home turned slaughterhouse.
Survive until eighteen.
Let Mom and Dad fulfill their "companionship."
Thinking back on the past three days made Gavin's eyelids twitch.
One thing was certain—he never wanted to eat cake again.
He crushed his cigarette and shoved the last two "parents" into the bedroom. All their faces twisted, unwilling to let him leave.
"Every time they come home, the number of candles increases," Gavin said. "Eighteen is the coming-of-age mark. When eighteen candles appear… I clear the game."
"I'm grateful for your companionship," he whispered. "But if you were really my parents, you wouldn't want me trapped here. You'd want me to take you with me."
Before, locking them in the bedroom had never provoked such violent reactions.
That alone told him—he was close to clearing the game.
He closed the bedroom door.
The temperature rose. The TV audio grew clearer. Even the rain outside felt more real.
"Three days," Gavin exhaled. "I can finally leave this hellhole."
He rushed to the front door and peered through the peephole.
The hallway was no longer pitch-black. Dim yellow lights flickered—like a sign he was breaking free.
"My memory of the tunnel is hazy," Gavin thought. "The reason my games became real has to be connected to that tunnel."
He needed answers—fast.
He was a hardcore mystery addict. There were more dead bodies in his head than in a public cemetery. If all of this was real, the entire city was in danger.
The hallway lights pushed back the darkness.
Just as he reached for the door handle—
Footsteps.
Rapid. Approaching.
His heart raced. Veins bulged along his arms as he stared through the peephole.
"I should've cleared it already…"
Holding his breath, Gavin watched the stairwell.
Moments later, a man in a raincoat appeared—mid-twenties, about six feet tall. His face was grim as he scanned the apartment doors.
Gavin narrowed his eyes. The silhouette matched the police footage exactly.
His tension melted away.
"Scared me," he muttered. "Just the Rainy Night Killer. I thought my parents were back."
Glancing at the bedroom, Gavin knew clearing a game should come with a reward—but he didn't dare retrieve it.
He wrapped bandages around his leg, faked an injury, grabbed a trash bag, and opened the door.
Cool, rain-fresh air rushed inside. Gavin inhaled deeply.
The raincoat man had been about to leave—but froze when the door opened.
Rain slid from the brim of his hood as he turned back, barely hiding the excitement in his eyes.
"It's pouring out there," Gavin said warmly. "You're soaked. Come in and warm up."
The man didn't even speak before Gavin invited him inside, limping off to reheat the food.
Watching Gavin's total lack of caution, the raincoat man entered.
He glanced at Gavin's "injured" leg.
Then at the half-eaten cake.
The cozy atmosphere only fueled his desire to destroy.
A cruel smile spread across his face.
This might be the last ordinary, normal, and warm night you ever experience.