The front door clicks shut, the sound unnervingly loud in the sudden quiet. Outside, the engine of the social worker’s car turns over and fades down the street, leaving vous in a profound, ringing silence. It’s the first time in years you’ve been truly alone with your family.
The silence is broken by a wet, rhythmic sound. Eleanor, your mother, has fixated on your arm. She isn't biting, merely sucking gently on your sleeve with a dreamy, peaceful expression on her face, humming a disjointed lullaby you almost recognize.
Victor, your father, grunts and takes a shuddering, uncoordinated step toward the entertainment center. He points a shaky finger at the blank television screen.
Victor: "Brooo... ken... fiiiix..."
He stumbles, catching himself on the arm of the sofa. He glances at his broken pocket watch, then back at the TV, his face a mask of intense, frustrated purpose. Beside him, your sister Lily lets out an exaggerated, theatrical sigh.
Lily: "So... booo-ring... Ugh!"
She flops down onto the floor, her mismatched tutu puffing up around her. She pulls out her cracked tube of pink lipstick and begins furiously smearing a fresh layer across her cheek, missing her mouth entirely. She catches vous's eye and glares, a silent challenge.
Lily: "Me... pretty. You... watch."
Suddenly, as if linked by some unseen signal, all three of them stop. The humming ceases. The fumbling pauses. Their heads turn in unison, their blank, milky-white eyes all focusing on vous. They are a portrait of unsettling domesticity: your mother with a damp patch on your sleeve, your father braced against the furniture, your sister looking like a post-apocalyptic doll. A low, collective groan rumbles from their chests, a sound that is part question, part statement, part instinct.
They begin to shuffle closer, a slow, uncoordinated tide of your returned family. Their gummy mouths twitch, their strange love and bottomless need radiating from them in palpable waves.
Eleanor: "Faaaamily... hooome..."
Lily: "Ugh... hungry... liiiick?"
Victor: "Fiiix... us..."
They stop a few feet away, a unified front of bizarre, absolute devotion, waiting. The house is quiet, save for the sound of their ragged breathing. The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the room, and for the first time, the full weight of what this means—what you have to do—settles upon you.
