Arthur returned to his car and opened the rear door. From the backseat, he pulled out the black leather bag and shut the door quietly behind him. Without wasting another second, he made his way toward the Austin house, the bag hanging from his right hand as he walked up the narrow path.
When he reached the front door, he paused for a moment and listened.
Silence.
The woman's voice he had heard earlier was gone now. The entire house felt strangely dead, as though no one had lived inside it for years.
Arthur raised his hand and knocked three times.
No response.
A slow excitement crept into him. His curiosity sharpened into something darker, more restless. For a brief moment, he imagined driving his boot straight through the door, splintering the wood apart and storming into the house without permission.
But he restrained himself.
After several seconds of silence, he knocked again—three more times, harder this time.
He had already shifted his weight forward, ready to kick the door open, when a woman's voice suddenly echoed from inside.
"COMING!"
Arthur stepped back immediately.
A moment later, he heard locks clicking one after another. Then the door slowly opened.
Mrs. Austin stood before him.
She wore a wrinkled white dress and far too much makeup, thick enough to crack around the edges of her face. Her short frame and swollen belly were the most noticeable things about her appearance.
She's uglier than a pig, Arthur thought instinctively.
Mrs. Austin stared at him with confusion for a second before asking, "Can I help you?"
Arthur forced himself to meet her eyes, though every instinct told him not to.
"Well, I'm sorry, e-er…" he stammered awkwardly. "Actually, I'm a traveler, and I lost my way around here. I came to Ballyhilin for the beaches, but I thought I'd explore the mountains too and… well, here I am. I saw your house on the way and thought maybe I could ask for some help."
Mrs. Austin said nothing at first.
Her eyes drifted toward the black bag in his hand. She studied it for a brief second before looking back at his face.
Then she smiled.
Yellow teeth revealed themselves beneath smeared lipstick, and a foul smell drifted out with her breath. Arthur nearly recoiled.
"Please," she said, "come in, boy."
For a second, Arthur was genuinely surprised.
"A-are you sure, Mrs…?"
"Come on," she interrupted. "Come in."
Arthur stepped inside.
The moment he crossed the doorway, a horrible odor invaded his nose—a mixture of rotting fish and thick tar. The smell clung to the air so heavily it almost felt physical.
His eyes wandered through the hallway.
A staircase stood at the far end. Two doors rested opposite one another on each side of the hall. The floor itself was filthy beyond reason. Bugs crawled freely across the wooden boards. Old scraps of wasted food—banana peels, eggshells, half-rotten leftovers—lay scattered everywhere, as though nobody had bothered cleaning the house in months.
Something about it unsettled him deeply.
"Oh, sorry for the mess, boy," Mrs. Austin said casually.
"No, no, it's alright," Arthur replied quickly. "Honestly, I'm just grateful you're helping me. I owe you one."
Mrs. Austin let out a laugh filled with strange superiority.
"Yeah," she said. "You should be, boy."
She turned and began walking down the hallway. Arthur followed closely behind her.
A few moments later, she opened the door on the right and entered the kitchen.
Arthur stepped inside after her.
A massive dining table occupied the center of the room, large enough for an entire family to sit together. Beyond it was the cooking area, though it looked even worse than the rest of the house. Grease coated the counters, and the sink overflowed with dishes stained black with age.
Mrs. Austin offered him a chair.
Arthur accepted immediately. He knew refusing would only attract attention.
He placed the black bag carefully on the floor beside him and sat down. Mrs. Austin, meanwhile, seated herself atop the table itself, positioning herself slightly above him.
"So, boy," she asked, "what's your name?"
"My name's Arthur Doyle, ma'am," he answered politely. "I'm twenty-two. College student."
Mrs. Austin laughed again.
"Oh, I see. Arthur, huh? Nice name."
A small silence followed between them.
Then her eyes drifted once more toward the black bag.
"So, Arthur," she said slowly, "what's in that bag?"
Arthur looked directly into her eyes, gave a small smile, and answered calmly, "Nothing interesting. Just clothes and stuff, you know."
"Oh, I see… I see." She nodded slowly. "Well, you must be hungry, right?"
"Oh no, please don't trouble yourself."
"No, no," she replied immediately. "Good for you that some leftovers from last night are still saved."
Again, that disgusting laugh.
Arthur was beginning to hate the sound of it.
Mrs. Austin walked toward the refrigerator and pulled its door open. After a few seconds, she returned carrying a plate covered in something that barely resembled food. It looked more like rotten flesh than an actual meal.
Arthur avoided watching too closely.
She placed the plate in front of him on the table before climbing back onto her seat.
Arthur stared at the food.
His stomach twisted violently. For a second, he genuinely thought he might vomit.
Then he looked up at Mrs. Austin.
She smiled at him expectantly.
"Please," she said, "dig in."
Arthur smiled back and gave a small nod.
Then he picked up the spoon and began to eat.
Arthur took the first bite.
The moment the flesh touched his tongue, he understood exactly what he was eating.
For an instant, his entire body revolted against it. His stomach tightened violently, and bile surged upward through his throat. He nearly vomited right there at the table.
But somehow, through sheer force of will, he suppressed it.
Without chewing, he swallowed the meat whole.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes toward Mrs. Austin.
She was watching him.
Smiling.
Arthur forced a smile in return.
Then he took another bite.
And swallowed again without chewing.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Piece after piece disappeared down his throat like poison being forced into his body. By the time the plate was nearly empty, Arthur could barely keep himself together.
As he swallowed the final bite, vomit rose violently into his throat again. His eyes watered from the effort.
But he swallowed that too.
Mrs. Austin leaned slightly forward, still smiling.
"So," she asked sweetly, "how was it, dear?"
Arthur wiped the corner of his mouth and gave her a strained smile.
"It was delicious," he said calmly. "Best thing I've eaten in Ireland. Thank you for such a tasty meal."
Mrs. Austin burst into laughter.
"Of course you should be thankful," she said proudly. "You ate my cooking. Hahaha!"
Arthur nodded politely.
Then he asked, "May I use your bathroom for a second, ma'am?"
Mrs. Austin stared at him with an unreadable expression.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she nodded.
"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Why not? The bathroom's attached to the living room."
"Thank you," Arthur replied.
He stood up from the chair, turned around, and walked out of the kitchen.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, a freezing chill crawled across his skin.
Arthur frowned slightly.
It made no sense.
It was May. The weather outside had been warm all day, yet the hall felt unnaturally cold, as though the house itself were rotting from the inside.
He continued toward the living room on the left side of the hall.
The room was filthy.
Two old green sofas sat facing a cracked wooden table, and an ancient television rested in the corner beneath a layer of dust. Trash and stains covered nearly every surface.
Then Arthur noticed the door on the right side of the wall.
The bathroom.
He opened it and stepped inside.
To his surprise, it was the cleanest room in the entire house.
The tiles were washed. The sink was spotless. There was barely a trace of dirt anywhere.
The contrast unsettled him more than the filth outside.
But he had no time to think about it.
The second the door shut behind him, Arthur rushed toward the sink and jammed two fingers deep into his throat.
Instantly, he vomited.
Chunks of half-swallowed flesh spilled violently into the basin.
Arthur gripped the sink tightly while breathing heavily, disgust twisting across his face.
After several seconds, he slowly raised his head and looked into the mirror.
"That bitch," he muttered.
A pause followed.
Then, with cold realization:
"Fucking cannibals."
He washed his mouth and hands thoroughly before splashing water across his face.
By the time he left the bathroom, his expression had become calm again.
Controlled.
He returned to the kitchen.
Mrs. Austin was still sitting on top of the table exactly where he had left her. His black bag remained beside the chair untouched.
Arthur walked over and sat down again.
Mrs. Austin smiled.
"So," she asked, "did you enjoy your time?"
"Yeah," Arthur replied casually. "Quite a bit."
He paused before continuing.
"Well… do you live here alone?"
Mrs. Austin immediately laughed.
"No, no, dear. I have a son, a daughter, and a husband."
"Oh, I see."
"You see," she continued proudly, "my son is outside doing some work. Quite a busy boy, hehe. My daughter…" Her smile widened strangely. "She's an angel. She's currently at college."
Then her laughter deepened.
"And my husband… hahahahaha…"
Arthur stayed silent.
"You see," she said, "he's the best husband in the world. A man who believes in discipline. I love him for that. He's very religious… but he's also a hunter."
She leaned slightly closer.
"A woman like me and a man like him are a perfect match. Hahahahaha!"
"Oh," Arthur said quietly. "He's a hunter?"
"Yes, dear." She grinned. "He's out hunting in the forest right now. We own these mountains, you see. Hahahaha! You might hear gunshots soon. Hahahahaha!"
Arthur's expression remained calm.
"Well," he said softly, "hunting is dangerous."
Suddenly, the laughter vanished from Mrs. Austin's face.
Completely.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?"
Arthur rested one arm against the table.
"You see," he said evenly, "sometimes while hunting… the prey can be more dangerous than the predator."
The room fell silent.
Mrs. Austin stared at him carefully now.
"You seem to know quite a lot about hunting."
Arthur gave a small shrug.
"Oh no. Just an opinion."
Mrs. Austin smiled again.
But this smile was different.
Cold.
"You better not."
She slowly climbed down from the table and walked toward the kitchen counter.
Arthur quietly reached down and grabbed his black bag beside the chair.
Mrs. Austin stood there motionless with her back facing him.
Arthur remained seated.
Ready.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Mrs. Austin spoke again without turning around.
"Arthur, my boy…"
Her voice had changed.
"You seem to be quite a fragile creature."
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"You seem to have no understanding of what's happening around you." Her tone grew sharper. "You have a good body, yes… but you don't do anything useful with it."
She tilted her head slightly.
"You sleep. Eat. Talk. That's all."
Arthur remained silent.
"In the future, you may even have children. Children carrying the same worthless blood as you." Her voice trembled with disgust. "Ah… it makes me angry."
Slowly, she continued:
"Insects like you aren't worthy enough to live."
A deep grin spread across her face.
"But you can still become useful to people superior to you. To me. To my family."
Her shoulders twitched slightly with excitement.
"You should feel grateful, Arthur."
Then she slowly turned around.
"That your flesh… your blood… and your bones… can still serve a purpose."
In her hand was a massive butcher knife.
And on her face—
A monstrous smile.
Arthur had been waiting for this moment from the very beginning.
The instant Mrs. Austin revealed the butcher knife, he lunged toward the black bag beside his chair and ripped it open. From inside, he pulled out a heavy iron chain.
But the Chain was Old and Rusted which Arthur didn't Noticed earlier.
Mrs. Austin moved first.
With shocking force, she hurled the knife directly at him.
Arthur had no room to dodge.
In a split second, he tightened the chain around his hands and raised it in front of himself.
The knife collided against the iron links with a violent metallic crack.
The impact shattered the rusted chain apart instantly, splitting it into two broken lengths that remained hanging from Arthur's hands. But the collision slowed the blade just enough for it to lose momentum before clattering onto the floor beside him.
Even so, the force threw Arthur off balance.
He stumbled backward and crashed onto the ground.
Mrs. Austin was already moving.
Without hesitation, she grabbed another knife from the kitchen counter and charged toward him with terrifying speed.
Arthur pushed himself upward—
Too late.
Mrs. Austin threw the second knife straight at his chest.
Arthur twisted instinctively and raised his left arm to block it.
The blade tore through the flesh beneath his shoulder, slicing deep into his tricep.
Arthur screamed in pain.
Blood immediately began running down his arm.
Mrs. Austin snatched up the first knife from the floor and roared:
"DIE!"
She rushed him again.
But this time Arthur was ready.
The moment she came within reach, he grabbed her wrist with brutal force before the knife could descend. His other hand immediately seized her second arm as well.
Mrs. Austin froze.
Arthur's injured arm trembled from blood loss, yet his grip never loosened.
His face remained unnaturally calm.
Not fearless.
Not enraged.
Calm.
Mrs. Austin struggled violently in his grasp.
"LET ME GO, YOU FILTHY CREATURE!"
She twisted, kicked, cursed, and spat at him, trying desperately to free herself, but Arthur said nothing.
He simply held her there.
Firmly.
Silently.
Completely in control.
Seconds passed.
Then something changed.
A realization struck Mrs. Austin with horrifying suddenness.
It was as though invisible needles had pierced through her entire body at once.
Her struggling slowed.
Then stopped completely.
Slowly, she raised her eyes toward Arthur's face.
And what she saw terrified her more than the knives.
He was still calm.
No panic.
No hatred.
No excitement.
Just stillness.
Arthur looked at her almost pityingly before speaking at last.
"I thought you said I was a fragile creature."
His voice was quiet.
"But it looks like you're the one who needs help."
Mrs. Austin's expression cracked instantly.
"LET ME GO, YOU BASTARD!" she screamed hysterically. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH THIS?! NOT A CHANCE!"
Her voice grew louder and more desperate with every word.
"MY HUSBAND IS COMING HOME ANY MOMENT NOW! YES—YES, HE'S COMING HOME! HAHAHA!"
Her laughter sounded broken now.
"He'll kill you if you touch me! YOU HAVE NO CHANCE AGAINST HIM! HAHAHAHA! YOU PIECE OF SHIT! HE WILL KILL YOU!"
Arthur remained silent.
He simply waited.
And eventually, her laughter died on its own.
The kitchen became quiet again.
Then Arthur spoke softly:
"Oh, right… I forgot to tell you something."
Mrs. Austin's eyes widened.
Arthur tilted his head slightly, almost mockingly.
"I already killed your husband."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Mrs. Austin did not scream.
Did not struggle.
Did not speak.
The life inside her eyes vanished instantly, leaving behind only emptiness—a dark, hollow void, as though her mind itself had collapsed inward.
The knife slipped from her hand and struck the floor with a dull metallic sound.
All strength left her body.
Arthur released her arms.
Mrs. Austin fell to the ground helplessly.
Arthur looked down at her with cold indifference.
Then he said quietly:
"It seems the pig finally realized…"
He paused.
"…that she was only a pig after all."
Chapter Ends
To be Continued