Chapter 1

Almost every night, Mum forced Dad into bed.

I'd always thought he hated being close to her because she was so ugly.

Then one day, I saw her stuff him into a coffin and climb on top of him. His cries for help were drowned out by her shrill, excited calls of “Darling!”

I turned and ran. At the village entrance, I collided with a blind old man. Scrambling up, he muttered, “What's a rag doll doing in the road?”

Then he looked me up and down and said in alarm, “You're a demon's cherished doll.”

Mum wasn't just ugly. Her behavior was so strange it made my skin crawl.

Every day, she cooked me all kinds of nourishing food, saying a boy going through puberty needed to grow tall and strong.

But she insisted on feeding me every spoonful herself. Sometimes she even chewed the food, spat it out, and fed it to me.

Dad had it worse.

Every night, she carried him into their room by the scruff of his neck, like a chicken. As soon as the door shut, all sorts of “interesting” sounds would begin and continue all night.

Gran often told me, “A child mustn't despise his mother for being ugly. Filial piety means obedience. Only by obeying your mother can you be a good son.”

She lectured Dad too.

“A man's promise is worth a fortune. Remember your marriage vows. You can't neglect your wife just because she's ugly. A real man takes responsibility.”

After living in that family for so long, I'd grown used to it.

But that night, Dad's screams were especially terrible.

I knew a little about adult matters, but this sounded nothing like before.

He was genuinely screaming for his life.

I crept barefoot toward their door, afraid Gran would catch me.

A few years earlier, curiosity had brought me there once. Before I'd seen anything, she'd caught me and scolded me for spying on my parents' private affairs. Then she'd gone around the village telling all the old women how badly behaved and shameless I was.

For years, I hadn't dared look those women in the face.

This time, though, I was genuinely worried about Dad.

The older I got, the stranger Mum seemed.

If someone told me she wanted to harm the whole family, I'd believe it.

After making sure Gran was fast asleep, I quietly approached my parents' room.

The door was old, but a little paper stuffed into the gap would stop it creaking. I'd secretly tampered with the lock beforehand too.

To my astonishment, a jet-black coffin had appeared in the room.

Laughing, Mum grabbed Dad's legs and tossed him inside.

He kept trying to crawl out, but in the end he fell into the coffin's inky darkness.

Scratching came from within.

Mum straddled the lid, pinning it shut, and bent down to pull out his clothes, throwing them aside one piece at a time.

As her body rose and fell, his cries for help began choking into sobs.

Everything was swallowed by her repeated calls.

“Darling...”

“Darling...”

My whole body seemed to spasm.

Only one thought remained.

Run. Run now!

I backed away stiffly, step by step.

When I reached the front yard, I turned and bolted.

I didn't look back.

I didn't stop.

Even as the stones scraped the skin from my bare feet, I clung to one thought.

Run!

I hit something, stumbled, and fell.

Before I could collect myself, I saw a blind old man shakily getting up in front of me.

I'd collided with someone.

I was about to apologize when he muttered, “What's a rag doll doing in the road?”

His voice was quiet, but in the still night I heard every word.

I didn't think much of it. I went to help him and said I was sorry.

“You... you're alive?”

Startled, he prodded me with his cane.

“I'm sorry, sir. I bumped into you. If you're all right, I should go.”

My scraped feet stung, and the scene with Mum was still stuck in my head. I had no patience for this strange old man.

But he bent closer to my feet and sniffed hard.

His black cane moved cautiously around them.

He circled me once, his cloudy white eyes, without a trace of dark iris, seeming to stare straight at me.

His voice turned ominous.

“You're bleeding... You're alive... You're a cherished doll raised by a demon.”

I ignored him and turned to leave.

“Wait, little boy. Don't go. Haven't you lived somewhere very strange since you were small? Isn't there someone terribly unusual in your family? Someone you can't escape, who controls you and brings disaster on everyone?”

Was he talking about Mum?

But why call me a little boy?

I was seventeen!

Just a crazy old man after all.

Ignore him.

Then he spoke again.

“You actually died when you were seven. You've been nurtured for more than nine years. In ten days, it'll be ten years exactly.

“Once those ten years are up... no one in your family will die in one piece.”

I stopped dead.

How did he know I'd been seriously ill at seven?

Everyone had thought I wouldn't survive.

“Young man. These are the ashes of a talisman I drew myself. Secretly give them to that person tonight. Watch what happens at midnight. If you still want to see me tomorrow, come back here.”

He turned and left.

Fast.

So fast he hardly seemed to need his cane.

I stared at the packet of gray powder in my palm, dipped a finger in, and tasted a little.

Ordinary paper ash.

Maybe...

I should try it.

That evening, I gripped the packet, so nervous I didn't know what to do.

Mum was about to come out of her room.

She usually came out for water around then.

I hurriedly took her cup, emptied all the ash into it, and filled it with water.

“Mum, do you want a drink?”

I held it out.

She suspected nothing and drained it in one go.

Only when I saw the empty cup did I breathe again.

Before long, she began vomiting and suffering violent diarrhea.

My heart lurched.

Had the blind man played a trick on me?

Was it just a laxative?

She didn't improve until late that night.

Strangely, she left Dad alone too.

I watched everyone switch off their lights and go to sleep.

By then, I was furious and embarrassed.

That damned old man!

Giving me a packet of laxative for his own amusement!

I was silently cursing eighteen generations of his ancestors for the eighty-first time when sounds came from both Mum's and Gran's rooms.

It was as though they'd arranged it.

They'd deliberately waited until Dad and I were asleep.

I didn't dare move, afraid they'd discover I was awake. I lay still and listened.

Mum seemed to have gone to Gran's room.

What was she doing there in the middle of the night?

Curious, I slipped out of bed and crept toward Gran's door.

Passing Mum's room, I saw the black coffin in the middle of the floor.

Dad was nowhere in sight.

He must be sleeping in it again.

I didn't dwell on it and hurried on.

Mum was indeed in Gran's room.

One hand clutched her stomach. The other braced against the edge of the bed as she sat down.

She could barely walk.

Her body curled into a ball, all ten fingers hooked like claws.

She convulsed continuously, as though every muscle were vibrating at an incredible speed.

Gran hurriedly lit an oil lamp and brought it over.

In its feeble light, I could finally see.

Mum's facial muscles were spasming too.

Her eyebrows twisted together like ropes, her eyes squeezed shut, her eyeballs seeming to sink into their sockets.

The small, screwhead-sized lumps on her face were crushed out of shape.

Thick yellow fluid seeped out, covering her face.

Then her skin began to split.

At first, there were only fine cracks.

With each violent spasm, they spread, tearing through the skin until her whole face broke into pieces.

Then the cracking continued down her neck.

“Lie down!” Gran ordered coldly.

Mum was curled like a cooked prawn, unable to straighten. Every muscle fought to contract.

Gran forced her knees backward.

Crack!

Her legs immediately straightened.

Then her arms, which fell limp at her sides.

Finally, her waist.

Gran gripped above and below it and twisted hard.

Crack!

Mum's back flattened against the bed.

Every time Gran bent a joint, I covered my eyes.

It felt as though I were the one lying there.

At each sharp crack of bone, I clenched my teeth until they nearly cracked.

Mum...

Again and again, I wanted to rush in.

But Gran's ferocious face made me back away.

Worse still, Mum showed no resistance.

She looked grateful.

My heart clenched and rose into my throat.

Sweat dripped from my forehead onto the ground.

Mum lay straight on Gran's bed, faceup, arms and legs neatly extended.

Then Gran turned, took a pair of scissors, and approached her.

What was she going to do?

She looked just as she did when she was about to gut a fish.

She sat on the edge of the bed, scissors in one hand, and slowly unbuttoned Mum's clothes over her stomach with the other.

The oil lamp lit her face.

Gran was known as the most beautiful woman in the village.

But in that light, all I saw was a face covered in grotesque lumps of flesh.

I clamped a hand over my mouth and struggled to quiet my ragged breathing.

Mum looked in pain, but she clearly wanted Gran to hurry.

I couldn't imagine where those scissors would cut.

Then Gran opened Mum's stomach.

Not a drop of blood.

It looked like a layer of skin that had been stitched together.

Or rather... a sheet of cloth.

Gran reached her whole hand inside and slowly pulled something out.

It took no effort.

A gray-black clump.

It looked like...

Stuffing.

They both seemed surprised by that “stuffing.”

They exchanged a look and whispered.

Then Gran produced a handful of fresh white stuffing from somewhere and pushed it into Mum's stomach.

Mum lay still again.

Gran took out a needle and thread.

She stuck out her thick, gray-white tongue and licked the thread's end.

Her bulging eyes fixed on the needle's eye in the lamplight.

She threaded it quickly.

Her short, rough fingers handled the tiny needle with extraordinary skill.

It flew over Mum's stomach. In a few stitches, the opening was completely closed.

I don't know how I managed to watch it all.

My legs had long since gone weak. I seemed nailed to the ground.

For a moment, I even forgot to run.

Only when it was over did I snap out of it, as though waking from a dream.

I covered my mouth, swallowing my scream and the urge to call for help.

Dad.

I had to find Dad!

As I moved, I kept screaming inside.

Dad! Dad!

I quietly backed away and ran to Mum's room.

Looking into the coffin, I found him lying there, just as I'd expected.

It was very dark inside.

I could only vaguely make out his motionless body. He seemed deeply asleep.

I shook him.

No response.

I didn't dare shake harder in case Mum and Gran noticed, so I pinched his arm hard.

Strangely, he still didn't react.

Something was wrong.

No one could sleep that deeply.

I leaned aside to let the moonlight behind me reach into the coffin.

Only then did I see clearly.

What lay inside...

Was a corpse.

Dad's face was a ghastly, greenish white.