The hospital room was filled with an eerie silence. The five boys sat on their beds, their bodies covered in fresh bandages, their faces void of any life.
It had been a day since they were admitted, yet their parents still hadn't stopped demanding answers.
“Who did this to you? Speak up!”
The fathers were furious, pacing back and forth, their voices filled with rage.
" You are our sons! We raised you to be strong! What kind of men are you, staying silent like this?”
The boys didn’t respond. They sat there, staring at the floor, their hands gripping the bedsheets.
The police officers, who had been called earlier, stood by, watching.
One of the officers, tired of waiting, stepped forward.
“Listen, boys. If someone did this to you, we can help. But you have to tell us. Just give us a name.”
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Their silence was deafening.
The fathers clenched their fists.
“Useless! Absolutely useless!” one of them yelled, slamming his hand against the table. “Fine. If you won’t talk, we’ll find out ourselves.”
With that, the fathers stormed out, dragging the officers with them.
" Check the hospital cameras. Ask the doctors. We’ll find out who dropped them here.”
The door slammed shut.
The room fell into silence once more.
But the moment their parents left, the boys' hands began to tremble.
Their bodies stiffened.
Something was coming.
And they were right.
Minutes later, a nurse walked in. She carried a tray in her hands, but it wasn’t medicine.
It was five beautifully wrapped bouquets. With Flowers like:
Marigolds to remind the boys of their near-death experience.
Peonies to sarcastically "wish them good health" after their injuries.
Wolfsbane is a silent but terrifying warning that disobedience means death.
The boys’ blood turned to ice.
Each bouquet was placed on their bedside table. Each one had a small note attached.
Their hands shook as they reached for the cards, unfolding them slowly.
"Good boys receive a reward, bad boys receive punishment."
"This is your reward—for being good boys."
"You didn’t open your mouths. So, enjoy your gift."
"Not a single grain should go to waste."
Their stomachs churned.
And then—another nurse entered, pushing a cart.
This time, it wasn’t flowers.
It was five lunchboxes.
The smell of expensive, high-quality food filled the room.
One by one, the nurse placed the boxes in front of them.
"Eat."
The boys flinched.
They knew.
She wasn’t here.
She wasn’t anywhere near them.
And yet—they could feel her presence, lurking in the shadows, watching them.
Their hands moved on their own.
They opened the lids.
Inside was a feast.
Grilled meat, buttered vegetables, golden rice, the finest delicacies.
The kind of meal they would have devoured in seconds.
But today—
It felt like poison.
They swallowed hard.
Their throats felt dry.
But they picked up their spoons.
And they ate.
Even though their stomachs twisted in fear, even though every bite felt heavier than the last— They ate.
Because she had told them to.
And disobeying her was not an option.
The fathers returned, expecting to see their sons in the same miserable state.
Instead, they found them eating.
Not just eating—forcing food down their throats as if their lives depended on it.
Their expressions weren’t those of relief or comfort.
They were blank.
Cold.
Terrified.
The fathers froze.
" What… the hell… is this?”
They turned to the table.
That’s when they saw it.
The flowers.
The letters.
They snatched one up, reading it quickly.
With every word, their expressions are darkened.
And then, as if the universe wanted to make things worse, their phones rang.
The fathers answered.
Seconds later—
Their faces lost all color.
“What did you just say?”
Their secretaries were panicking on the other end.
"One of our warehouses... It’s gone. It burned down last night. Everything—destroyed.”
"Everything is burnt to ash"
The fathers lowered their phones slowly.
They turned to their sons.
The boys didn't even lift their heads.
They just kept eating.
Forcing food down.
“You… you knew?” one father stammered.
No response.
The fathers gritted their teeth, their hands shaking in anger.
“Who is she?”
Silence.
“Damn it, say something! What kind of woman are you so afraid of?!”
This time, one of the boys finally spoke.
His voice was hoarse. Empty.
"You don’t understand…”
The fathers leaned in, desperate.
“Then make us understand!”
The boy looked up slowly, his hollow eyes meeting theirs.
"She’s not just a woman.”
"She’s not someone you can fight.”
"She's a demon."
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