Nathan's heart pounded as he sat in the circle, his head still covered by the sack, breaths coming out in short gasps. He could hear Richard's voice, that unsettling sing-song tone, circling him and his siblings.
The sound of his father's laughter, high-pitched and gleeful, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It wasn't the laughter of a sane man anymore. It was childish, twisted—a mockery of joy.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…" Richard sang, his footsteps shuffling closer with each word.
Nathan's body tensed.
He could hear the others whimpering softly under their sacks, their fear palpable in the air. They were helpless, waiting to be chosen by their possessed father's sick game.
Then, the steps stopped behind him.
Nathan froze. The weight of Richard's presence was unbearable, hanging over him like a suffocating cloud. He could almost feel the grin spreading across his father's face, the madness radiating from him.
