The refrigerator door is yanked open, its faint blue light casting upon Kelly as she leans inside. She shuffles through the many plastic containers and leftovers covered in layers of saran wrap, her face scrunching up at all of the healthy food filling the shelves in front of her.

At home the only green she has in her fridge is mold.

Finding none of the contents even the slightest bit appealing, she slams the door back shut and begins to search elsewhere in the kitchen. While raiding the cabinets, she smiles the second she opens the one above the microwave—revealing a hidden plastic bag of potato chips tucked in the back behind a box of hot chocolate, glowing in her eyes as if it had been lowered down from the heavens.

She snatches the bag without hesitation and turns around to leave the kitchen. As she walks back toward the archway leading into the dining room, she halts in front of the basement door. Sniffing, she steps closer to it as she smells an odd odor coming from inside.

"What the hell?" She covers her nose as she gets a better whiff of the putrid stench, almost gagging at the awful smell. Instead of turning around to walk away, she takes a deep breath and holds it. Curiosity getting the best of her, she reaches out for the door knob and lightly clasps onto it. She twists it and, to her surprise, finds it unlocked.

The smell worsens as she cracks the door and, shaking her head, she immediately closes it and steps back. Trying not to jump to the worst case scenario, she convinces herself that a pipe must have broken or there's a mildew buildup covering the walls. Or maybe just a dead rodent.

Either way, not her business.

Kelly hurriedly walks back into the dining room, this time making sure not to look up at the deer head mounted on the wall above her. She opens the bag of chips, reaching inside to grab herself a handful when her phone buzzes from the table.

Leaning forward, she reads that it's a drunken text from her roommate. She smiles as she takes a bite of a potato chip, her eyes gazing upward to look at the time.

11:04 p.m.

Not bad. Already past halfway through her shift and, although she's dying of boredom, she managed to stay awake the entire time. Her eyes widen as she listens to the faint sound of the television still blaring from the living room. Caught up in her own secluded world, she completely forgot about making sure the kids were put to bed.

"Crap." She mutters to herself, shoving a couple of more chips into her mouth before turning to walk toward the entryway connecting into the living room.

Lucas still sits up against the back cushion of the couch, looking as if he hadn't moved an inch in the past two hours. Kelly plants a smile on her face as she steps into the living room, glancing up at the television to see it's a rerun of the same episode he was watching earlier. Or maybe it is a new one, she can't really tell. When it comes to reality shows, she always finds that it's the same exact thing every episode. Sex. Booze. Drama. Repeat.

Hell, maybe if she can pry him from this couch she can spend the last hour kicking back and watching a couple slash at each other's throats. She gazes around the room, seeing the many dead animals plastered on the walls watching her every move. On second thought, she might just stay cooped up in the dining room until Mr. Edwards returns home.

"Hey." She says in her sweetest, and fakest, tone. "It's time for bed."

He ignores her.

"Hello?"

Kelly rolls her eyes, knowing how boys his age can be. She crosses her arms as she walks around the side of the couch, completely dropping the nice-girl act. "Look, I have three younger brothers at home. So don't think—"

Halting, she feels her legs begin to tremble under her weight as her jaw drops. Part of her wants to scream, to cry, to slap herself until she wakes. She stutters on her next sentence, unsure whether or not it is just the boy playing some sort of sick prank on her. He has to be.

But he's not.

Lucas sits stiff and remains motionless, his face stretched far too tight across the front of his skull much like the saran wrap on the food in the fridge. Precise slices into his pale skin run down both sides of his temples down to his neck and so-on all the way to his feet. Black thread punctures his flesh around the cuts, keeping it sewn tightly together as if it had been completely ripped off at one point. His eyes stare blankly forward, an expression she knows all too well as she has been avoiding it in the dining room for the past two hours. His glossy, lifeless eyes made of no other than acrylic. His fingertips peel up from his hands, as if the bones in his body are too short and cause the excess skin to sag. From the areas where the needle pulled the thread through, his dry flesh is starting to flake and slowly peel. Several, much thinner cuts are carved into various areas of his body. Two perpendicular slices follow down his cheeks to his open mouth. The threads sewn into the cuts are coming apart as it stretches his lips slightly upward at the corners—forming an eerie, crooked smile.