—客人来，看爸爸

He’s massive. He towers over me, the top of his head nearly hitting the door-frame. His bloodshot, piggy eyes sweep over me.

“Is your dad home?” he thunders.

爸爸不在家

“Sorry, he won’t be home for a few more hours,” I say, trying not to let my voice shake.

He grumbles in disagreement, and pulls a butcher’s knife out of his bag. He sharpens it against the door-frame.

Ching ching

I can hear him mumble. “Hungry, so hungry…”

我请客人先坐下

“Would you like to come in first?”

The words jump out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Am I crazy? Inviting this man to my house? With his knife and monstrous eyes?

He flashes me a shark smile, and I notice his teeth are yellowed and rotten. He shoves me out of the way and goes and sits on the couch.

I sit next to him, hoping to break the ice.

“Uh, how are you?”

He does not respond, but simply sharpens his knife. It’s grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

Ching ching

His bag tumbles from the couch and the contents explode all over the floor. A heart, a pair of kidneys, a brain, a solid mass of intestines.Eyeballs roll on the floor, their blue irises staring back at me.

I gulp.

He turns back to me and grins at me again. Sizing me up.

“Where’s your manners, child? I want something to drink.”

I dare not argue. I flee into the kitchen.

再敬一杯茶

“Here you go,” I say nervously, handing him a cup of tea.

I hope he likes it. It is my mother’s special blend, after all. I have watched her make it many times. When guests come into my house, they seem to enjoy it, so I hope I have gotten it right.

He glares at me, does not even utter a ‘thank you’, just grunts, takes the cup, and downs it all at once. I watch as the brown slosh disappears down his throat.

It is barely five seconds until the poison takes effect.

He coughs—ack ack ack; his hands wrap around his throat. His face has turned as white as death. He stands up and dances around for a few minutes, then collapses on the floor.

It is at this exact moment that my dad comes home. He must be nearer than I thought.

He takes in the scene, the guest on the floor, his son sitting calmly on the couch. His next steps are well-practiced, almost graceful. He guts the man, skillfully removing his entrails, hearts and kidneys, ignoring his twitching muscles and his helpless screams. Fillets the flesh and injects the special antidote. The one that purifies the flesh and makes it safe to eat. My dad then gathers his fillets and the bag full of body parts he lovingly brought to us and carries them to the kitchen.

Finally he washes the skull and gives it to me. “Here you go, son. Great job!”

I beam with pride.