You wanted massacre.
Here it is.
Ivy hit me with force no child should have.
We crashed into the kitchen counter.
Knives scattered across the floor.
She moved wrong.
Limbs jerking in broken directions.
Her fingers split open into thin black blades.
She slashed across my chest.
Warmth spread.
I looked down.
Blood soaked through my shirt.
Real.
Pain bloomed sharp and hot.
She pinned me against the cabinet.
Her face inches from mine.
Her skin began sliding off.
Melting.
Revealing something underneath.
Something faceless.
"You are only here because they observe you," it hissed.
The windows shattered.
Glass rained inward.
Outside—
The neighbors stood in their yards.
Perfectly still.
Watching.
All smiling.
Their mouths opened simultaneously.
And a single sound came out of all of them:
"END HIM."
The walls began to tear.
Furniture lifted off the ground.
Reality cracked like glass.
And then—
I grabbed the knife.
You didn't expect that, did you?
I drove it into Ivy's chest.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
And again.
The sound—
Wet.
Dense.
Her body spasmed violently.
Black fluid sprayed across my face.
She didn't scream.
She laughed.
Even as I stabbed.
Even as her small ribs split apart.
Even as something inside her clawed to get out.
I didn't stop.
Because if this is my story—
I refuse to be the victim.
Her body collapsed.
Still twitching.
The neighborhood went silent.
The watchers disappeared.
The house stopped breathing.
I stood there.
Covered in blood.
Family gone.
Knife shaking in my hand.
And for the first time—
Everything was quiet.