Richard's blackened eyes gleamed with a twisted joy as he spun around his children, their heads covered with sacks. The living room, once filled with warmth, had become a scene of dread. The only sound was Richard's haunting voice, carrying a tune that shouldn't have been playful.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…"
He circled them slowly, his bare feet scuffing the floor. In his hand, a knife gleamed under the dim light. The blade, sharp and ready, seemed to fuel him. His children sat huddled, frozen in terror—Nathan, Emily, Jake, and Lily. None of them dared to move.
"Catch a tiger by the toe…"
Richard's voice had no hint of hesitation. He scraped the knife lightly across the floor, moving behind Emily. Nathan, though covered by the sack, felt the oppressive presence of his father's madness. Every word hit harder than the last.
"If he hollers, let him go…"
