“Hey, everyone,” he calls out, swinging the door open and slipping his keys into his pocket.

“Hey, René,” Elina calls back.

Randy is hunched over a game on the computer. Erick is busy in the kitchen.

“What are you making?” René asks.

“Calamari. It was on sale.”

René nods and heads toward his room, nearly bumping into Freddy in the hallway.

“How was your day?”

“The usual, Fred. Same old, same old. Where’s Marcos?”

“In his room, writing. Don’t bother him; you know how he gets.”

“Right…”

He continues to his room and changes. When he steps back out, he walks toward the end of the hallway; the door is slightly ajar. A strange odor hits him, making his face twist in disgust. He pushes the door open. It’s dark inside, and the stench thickens. He flips the light switch—nothing. He steps into the room and yanks the curtains open.

There is a body on the bed: Marcos. He is deathly pale, the sheets are soaked in blood, and flies are crawling across his face. René doubles over and vomits before bolting from the room.

Fred’s body lies in the hallway in a pool of dried blood. René rushes past. In the kitchen, Erick has been butchered on the floor. With his heart in his throat and consumed by absolute panic, he reaches the living room. Everyone is dead—a grotesque display of viscera, limbs, blood, and flies coating the furniture. He looks at the table; several blood-stained knives, meticulously organized by size, complete the scene.

René’s expression shifts instantly.

“Oh. I remember now,” he says, his voice flat.

He retraces his steps to his room, paying no mind to the corpses, and changes his clothes once more. He returns to the living room, opens the front door, and leaves without looking back.

A second later, the door opens.

"Hey, everyone…

…"

–“Continue reading and experience the original text in Spanish at https://fictograma.com/. Join our open-source community of writers today!”–