Raison D'être (A reason for existing). A Slasher Story.

Maison heureuse (Happy Home).

"Mummy." I speak up, the three of us gathered around the dining table.

"Yes my love?" Her voice. So sickly sweet and gentle when she talks, like a nurturing calmess.

I have to take a mouthful of food onto my fork and swallow it, swallowing my nervousness alongside it. Then I glance down, staring at my now empty fork. "What's in the room?"

Neither of them speak. For a moment I doubt myself, shamed for asking such a stupid question. I huff silently and force my eyes to look up past my fork and towards my parents. They offer each other a painfully obvious side glance and after a lengthy quiet, my mother sighs loudly and dusts off her blouse.

My father speaks up before she can, adjusting his silver framed glasses before he replies. "We discussed this before have we not?"

His voice is strained, like he too was attempting to push the topic away.

"I forgot. Remind me?" I offer up. It's blatant that I'm lying through my teeth, I remember clearly. But my parents did always have a habit of spilling false words to me.

"It's our collection room sweetheart, remember?" He chuckles, although it seems false.

"Can I see it now then? You said that when I got older I could see. I'm a big kid now dad." I whine and push my fork through the mince meet and spaghetti.

"No. You cannot." He answers almost immediately, a habit of his. I look up to him with furrowed eyebrows and a clenched jaw.

"But you promised!" I groan, frustrated.

"I know baby. But Mummy and I still have some more things to fix up in there and it's not safe for you, alright?" He tries.

"Whatever." I huff and lean back in the dining chair, staring back at my spaghetti as I twirl it around my fork again.

Then another long pause hits the room, none of us sure of what to discuss.

"What is a hoarder?"

"Pardon?" My mother speaks up again.

"When I was playing out, a lady said you two were hoarders. So what's a hoarder?" I say in curiosity and confusion.

"Oh sweetheart. She was just confused is all. She meant collectors. That's what me and daddy are okay?" She reaches over the table cloth to run her thumb softly down the back of my hand.

"Oh... oh okay." I mutter softly.

We ate in silence after that. Nobody even so much as sighing or mermering a single sound. So I finished my food, took my plate over to the kitchen and placed it beside the sink.

My mum came in behind me with both hers and my father's plates, stacking them on my own and placing them into the sink as she ran the hot water and dripped green liquid into it.

"Put the kettle on for me please." She mutters, not even sparing me a glance as she works her hands in the foggy liquid swirling across the plates with a sponge.

I nod, despite knowing she wouldn't see it, and reach across the counter behind us, pressing the tab down and letting it click and glow a faint blue. She hums in recognition at the noise and then turns back to the quiet.

I wait for it to boil, and when it clicks again and stops glowing, I grab an old mug. Putting three sugars and a teabag into it and finishing the drink with hot water and milk.

"Take it to your father for me sweetie, he should be in the study." I nod again, still no eye contact from her but too far into my habit of replying without their knowledge.

I hold it gently in my hands, stepping out of the kitchen and staring at my hands as they shake slightly when I descend down the steps and into the basement hallway. First door on the left was where my father would be.

But, I glanced to the side. First door on the right. The dark room.

My whole life I had been curious of what could be in there. And so, this time around, my curiosity had gotten the better of me.

I peeked towards the study room, closed. He wouldn't notice if I had just a quick look around, surely.

And so I wrap my fingers tighter around the handle of the cup. And take another quick peek at the study room before I turn and reach for the door handle to the dark room.