Please stop struggling, Mikhael," a woman whispered through sobs, cradling a baby to her chest. "It's better for both of us if you die."

"Waah! Waah!" The cries of babies filled the tiny room.

"Will you please stop crying!" the woman yelled, holding him closer. The cries slowly muffled in the background. "Please die already…"

"Mikhael! Mikhael!"

A young man sat up straight, gasping for breath. His dark hair was slick with cold sweat. Mikhael's eyes flickered around the tiny room, slowly piecing together reality.

"Oi, Mikhael!" A middle-aged man stormed into the room, his head nearly brushing the doorframe. "Do you not hear your mom calling you, or have you gone deaf?" the man growled.

Mikhael exhaled in exhaustion. This was an everyday occurrence in the Lane household. "I'm coming, Dad," he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he got up from the bed.

"Come soon. Your mom made your favorite meal. Don't complain if it gets cold." His father stormed out just as abruptly as he had entered.

Mikhael sighed before freshening up and heading downstairs. Laughter from the dining room filled the house. By the time he entered, his family was already seated. His stepmother stood behind the kitchen counter, her face beaming with joy as she stole glances at his father, who sat at the table. His toddler step-siblings sat beside their father, bickering over something.

"Ah! Good morning, Mikhael. Have a seat," his stepmother said, noticing him standing by the door.

Mikhael nodded and mumbled, "Morning." He took his usual seat across from his father.

"What's with that weak voice? What are you, a girl?" the man nagged, chomping down his food.

Mikhael stayed quiet. It was the usual taunt. His very existence seemed to be a thorn in his father's side.

"Honey, don't be so hard on him. He's just a kid," his stepmother said first, patting his father's shoulder.

"He's eighteen, Michelle. I was already earning for my family at his age. Look at him—can't even pass his classes. He's just as useless as his mother."

Mikhael sat in silence, indifferent to his father's anger.

"I'm sure he's trying, Honey. Don't be so hard on him," Michelle remarked, placing a plate of pancakes in front of Mikhael. "Here."

"Yeah, eat free food and sleep like the leech you are," his father continued, taking a sip of his coffee. "You should have died that day with that wench."

"Honey!"

Mikhael froze in place, his stomach twisting. The hazy dream from earlier flashed before his eyes. Hearing such words from his father wasn't new, but today was different. Today was supposed to be his so-called death anniversary. Bile started rising in his throat.

"Stop struggling. Just die."

The voice rang in his ears.

"Mikhael? Mikhael?"

Mikhael snapped out of his thoughts. His eyes locked onto Michelle, who was looking at him with concern. "Are you alright?" she asked, her hand still on his shoulder.

Mikhael glanced around. His father was still sitting there, avoiding his gaze. The bile in his stomach surged. He couldn't hold it in any longer. Without another word, he stood up, covering his mouth as he rushed to the washroom.

"Where do you think you're going while your mom is talking to you?" his father yelled, but it didn't seem important.

"Stop it, Honey. He's just a kid."

"He's no kid, Michelle. I'll teach him manners once and for all."

Mikhael heard their argument in the background as he bent over the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach.

"Oi, Mikhael! What the hell is this supposed to mean? Open this damn door and apologize to your mom!" His father slammed on the door.

Mikhael slumped to the floor, gasping for breath as his father's voice droned on.

Why was it him who had to die?

Why not his father?

He was the cause of everything. Yet it was him who was asked to die. Why?

If only something happened to kill his father once and for all. If only…

Mikhael's thoughts were cut short as he felt a tremor beneath his feet. Slowly, the shaking turned into violent rattling. The sound of the old floor cracking echoed in his ears.

"What…" Mikhael looked around, fear creeping in as the lights began to flicker.

He instantly stood up as an eerie uneasiness settled over the room. In the distance, he heard a rumbling noise. Then, the only source of light went out.

"Honey!"

"Waah! Waah!"

Mikhael heard his stepmother and step siblings screaming somewhere in the house. Hoping to reach them, he called out, "Help!"

Another tremor hit, sending him sprawling to the ground. "Ugh!"

"Anyone out there?" Mikhael shouted, trying to reach for the door. In the darkness, he could hear things crashing to the floor. Blinded, he desperately searched for the doorknob.

"Aww, look at you. Struggling to survive."

A female voice quipped through the chaos.

"Who is it? Who's there?" Mikhael yelled, craning his head, hoping to see something—anything—in the dark.

"Oh, honey. My identity is the least of your concerns. Let's see if you can survive after this."

And with that, the trembling stopped. The dim fluorescent bulb flickered back on, lighting the room.

Mikhael found himself alone on the bathroom floor, debris scattered around him. He exhaled in relief.

His fingers gripped the doorknob—when a crackling sound made him stop.

Mikhael knew he would regret looking up, but instinct took over.