The Monster You Made: Episode 3

Delilah woke up early.Not because she had trouble sleeping, but because she never really slept in this house—just closed her eyes and waited for morning. The air still smelled like stale spirits and sweat, and her childhood bed creaked each time she moved, but she stayed put, staring at the ceiling until the sun filtered in weakly through the dusty curtain.He was still here.She could hear him coughing from the next room, the rasp cutting through the silence like old scars.She stood, straightened her dress, and stepped out. He was seated in the plastic chair by the front door, blanket wrapped around his frail shoulders like a child pretending to be old. He looked up when he heard her steps.“You didn’t say goodnight.”“I didn’t come here for bedtime routines,” she said flatly.He chuckled, though it turned into a wheeze halfway through. “Still sharp-tongued.”“And you're still breathing,” she said, walking past him to the small stool where a kettle sat cold. “Barely.”He said nothing.The kettle was dry, and the old gas cylinder was still where it used to be, probably leaking.She didn’t touch it. Instead, she picked up her phone and made a call."Bring breakfast and water. Yes, now."When she hung up, she turned to him. “You don’t get to die easy,” she said. “Not when you’ve lived this long doing nothing but rot.”He blinked, but didn’t respond. He just pulled the blanket tighter.She walked to the back of the house, to the pit where the clothesline still hung limp and forgotten. There, she stood, her eyes fixed on the soil beneath her feet. She remembered this spot. This was where he’d once buried her teddy bear after tearing it apart in front of her—said it was punishment for disobedience.She hadn’t cried that day. Not outside. But she’d never forgotten.“Delilah,” he called weakly from the door. She turned.“I remember everything.”“Good,” she said. “You’ll need those memories to keep you company in the next few weeks.”“What are you planning?”She walked up to him, slow and calm, until she stood right before his chair.“I’m going to take everything from you, the same way you took everything from me. But slower.”“You think I haven’t suffered?”“No,” she whispered, leaning closer, “I think you’re still breathing.”He looked at her, this woman who used to be a little girl hiding in closets, and now stood taller than him, colder than he’d ever imagined.She turned away and entered the house again, the wind lifting the hem of her dress just slightly as she moved. She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t shout. Because monsters don’t need to scream.They just wait for the right moment to sink their teeth in.

The Monster You Made

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