Chapter 4

After turning it over in my mind, I made an anonymous account online and wrote a post about it.

To avoid alarming people, and to keep the post from being reported and taken down, I left out Dad’s bizarre death. I only mentioned a few of the strange rules in our house.

Before long, quite a few comments appeared.

Lots of people posted question marks, saying they couldn’t understand what I was talking about.

I scrolled through them without finding anything useful. Instead, quite a few people accused me of making it up to build a following.

[Obviously farming followers. Move along, everyone. Reported it for you. You’re welcome.]

[If you’re going to make stuff up, at least make it believable. What even is this?]

I immediately typed a reply. [I swear on my life that all of this really happened. I haven’t made up a single word.]

Once people saw I was replying, the discussion grew lively.

[Okay, you know what… Seeing this post in broad daylight is still giving me the creeps. What the hell is going on?]

[Right? This is straight out of one of those rules horror stories. I feel like there’s some huge conspiracy hidden in your family. I’ve got chills down my back. Now I want to know the secret too.]

[Doesn’t anyone else think this is bizarre? Her parents won’t let her sing and dance, then turn around and deny it. Have they really forgotten, or are they pretending? And why singing and dancing, specifically?]

[Jumping in here. Following.]

[Following.]

[Following.]

After a long string of “Following” comments, I still hadn’t learned anything useful.

Then I saw a long comment.

[Something definitely isn’t right. They forbid you from doing things, then flatly deny it afterward. I see two possibilities. One, they really have forgotten. But that seems very unlikely, since you say they’re normal the rest of the time. Two, they’re doing it deliberately, something like gaslighting, to make you doubt your memory.]

I stared at the comment, lost in thought.

They had a point. But why would my parents want to interfere with my memory? What would that achieve?

There were other theories in the comments.

[This is a horror movie. I’m guessing your parents have some dark family secret passed down through the generations. Your dad keeps mentioning it because he’s trying to prepare you, so you won’t be overwhelmed when you find out!]

My frown deepened. I kept scrolling and found another long comment.

[Are your parents mentally well? They hate hospitals. Could it be that they hate doctors and don’t want a doctor to discover something’s wrong with them? Maybe your dad’s secret is that they both have mental health problems.]

Quite a few people thought this was the most reasonable explanation.

If my parents really had mental health problems, it would explain everything that had happened.

But something still felt wrong. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t that simple.

I suddenly remembered the note in Dad’s mouth and shuddered.

Why had he told me to run?

Who could have killed him without a sound inside a house that was shut up tight?

Just then, I heard a faint murmur of conversation from next door.

The hotel walls couldn’t have been very soundproof if voices could carry through them.

For some reason, I crouched down and pressed my ear to the wall.

But there was still a wall between us. The voice was muffled, and I couldn’t make out the words.

I was certain it was Mom, though.

Was she on the phone with someone?

Just as I was about to move away, I caught one word.

Dad’s name.

My unease deepened. It felt as though something was waiting for me.

Waiting for me to walk straight into its trap.