When I saw my own mother's head, cut off like that, displayed on the shelf.
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Kumo went bad.
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More precisely, Kumo was slowly going bad.
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When she remained indifferent to the hands and feet in the refrigerated warehouse, she was no longer a normal child.
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Just that last nerve hadn't snapped yet.
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Kumo had always known that her parents' relationship was not good.
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They often quarreled.
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But she had never seen her father use violence against her mother.
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Therefore, she had never thought that the words "death" would have anything to do with her parents.
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Until she saw her mother's head placed in front of her like that.
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Her mother's eyes were open.
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Filled with blood vessels.
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Her hair was messy, like a bird's nest, extending in all directions.
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On her pale skin, there were dark red scratch marks, as if someone had been scratching her face back and forth with their nails.
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Her mother's originally straight nose was knocked crooked, twisted and bent, like a rotten eggplant.
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Next, it was her mother's neck.
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The cut surface was slanted, somewhat curved.
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Kumo was familiar with this kind of cut.
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She often watched her father slaughter pigs.
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With a sharpened big knife, he would swing it, raise it above his head, gather strength, and then chop down, in an instant, the pig's head would fly off the ground.
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Because there is a cervical vertebra bone in the middle of the neck, when the knife reaches this point, the trajectory of the swing would be slightly off, causing the final cut to be slightly slanted.
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So, who chopped off her mother's head.
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Was it a live chop down?
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Why was her mother's head placed in this refrigerated warehouse?
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Kumo stood blankly in front of her mother's head.
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Five minutes.
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Ten minutes.
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Half an hour.
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Two hours.
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Five hours.
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Until Kumo's father found her in the refrigerated warehouse.
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Kumo's father came directly to find Kumo from the pork stall.
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He was still wearing a filthy white leather work suit, covered with blood and pieces of meat.
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With his left hand holding a cell phone and his right hand holding a kitchen knife, he was sweating profusely.
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"…Finally, found you." (Kumo's father)
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Kumo's father was panting.
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"Didn't Dad tell you not to play in the freezer?" (Kumo's father)
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"Come on, go back with Dad. It's cold here, you'll catch a cold." (Kumo's father)
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After three sentences in a row, not a single word mentioned Kumo's mother.
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Kumo's father completely ignored the fact that her wife's head was placed there.
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Didn't see it.
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Doesn't exist.
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Speaking nonsense.
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Then, he didn't wait for Kumo to answer.
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Actually, Kumo's answer might not be important to him.
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He put one hand on Kumo's head, and another hand pulled Kumo's arm up, half-forcedly wanting to take Kumo out of the refrigerated warehouse.
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To his surprise, Kumo did not resist, very obediently following his guide out of the refrigerated warehouse.
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Very obedient and compliant.
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Just like she always was.
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Call her to eat, she'll eat.
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Study, she'll study.
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Sleep, she'll sleep.
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Although her grades at school are not top, she is one of the students often praised by teachers.
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Neighbors all like her, calling her obedient and sensible.
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A very worry-free child.
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Now, Kumo is also strangely following her father's instructions, walking as if she were a puppet, without her own will.
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And so, she walked all the way to the door of the refrigerated warehouse.
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At the moment before stepping out of the refrigerated warehouse, Kumo suddenly stopped.
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"...What's wrong? Why can't you move so fast?" (Kumo's father)
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Kumo's father gently pushed Kumo.
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"..." (Kumo)
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Kumo silently shook her head.
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Then, Kumo spoke softly.
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"Dad, I saw... Mom's head in there." (Kumo)
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As if she had done something wrong, she dared not speak loudly.
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And in response to what Kumo said, Kumo's father was slightly stunned, then smiled and replied.
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"Silly girl, are you having a nightmare?" (Kumo's father)
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"How could that be, Mom's head is of course on Mom's body, how could it be in the refrigerated warehouse?" (Kumo's father)
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"Oh, what a silly girl!" (Kumo's father)
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As Kumo's father said this, he rubbed Kumo's head vigorously.
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In fact, Kumo wanted to turn back and look inside the refrigerated warehouse.
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But she didn't dare.
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The kitchen knife in her father's hand was still dripping with blood.
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Kumo didn't dare to speak again.
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She obediently followed her father out of the refrigerated warehouse.
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That night, her father rarely cooked dinner himself.
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Kumo knew very well that this was because her mother, who usually cooked, was no longer there.
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Her mother's head was in the refrigerated warehouse.
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What about the other parts of her mother's body, are they also in the refrigerated warehouse?
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Or did they go elsewhere?
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All this time, what happened to those body parts Kumo had seen in the refrigerated warehouse, but later disappeared from sight?
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In the end, why did her father's meat freezer have these things?
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Sitting in front of the television, Kumo couldn't focus on the content of the animation, her mind filled with thoughts about the refrigerated warehouse and her mother.
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"Come, tonight we're having curry pork chop rice, are you happy?" (Kumo's father)
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As he spoke, Kumo's father placed a plate of curry rice with a palm-sized fried pork chop, golden and crispy, in front of Kumo.
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This used to be one of Kumo's favorite dishes.
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Dipped in curry, the pork chop, when eaten, exuded a mouthful of meaty fragrance.
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But now, she just couldn't eat.
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She didn't know why, but when she looked at that pork chop, her thoughts were of her mother.
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Which part of her mother could that pork chop be?
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An arm?
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A thigh?
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Her back?
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She just couldn't eat it.
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However, for the first time, she felt the absence of her mother at dinner time.
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So quiet.
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Quiet enough to be pleasant.
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Only the sound of the animated show on TV and her father in the kitchen could be heard.
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No quarreling.
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No annoying arguments.
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No heartless curses disregarding emotions.
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Her mother not being there was actually quite nice.
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In that case, her mother didn't need to come back, it didn't really matter.
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At that thought, Kumo suddenly felt relieved.
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Then, she picked up the pork chop, dipped it in curry, and took a big bite.
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In the cross-section of the bite, she could clearly see the texture of the meat, each line distinct.
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The color of the meat was just right, slightly red from frying, very tender.
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It tasted so good.
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"Dad, the pork chop you made is even more delicious than Mom's." (Kumo)
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Looking up, Kumo said to her father.
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"Is that so, that's good, hahaha." (Kumo's father)
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"I know you love it, so I fried an extra piece for you." (Kumo's father)
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Kumo's father got up and brought another fried pork chop from the kitchen and put it on Kumo's plate.
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"Eat more." (Kumo's father)
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"Okay." (Kumo)
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That night, as usual, Kumo finished her homework early, washed up, and went to bed before ten.
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The only difference was that tonight, Kumo only said goodnight to her father before going to bed.
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Her mother was no longer there.
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Would her father be able to sleep alone?
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Kumo's concern was valid.
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On that night, her father indeed could not fall asleep.
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At two in the morning, Kumo's door was quietly pushed open.
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Kumo's father, with a sturdy body, was like a cat at this moment, his every move and gesture silent.
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In his hand, he held a rope as thick as a wrist, the same one he used to tie up the pigs for slaughter.
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On that rope, there were bloodstains and a foul smell that couldn't be washed off.
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In the dead of night, Kumo's father sneaked in with this rope, with only one purpose.
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He slowly lifted Kumo's blanket.
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To his surprise, there was nothing in the blanket.
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Kumo was not in bed.
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Immediately, he felt an unbearable sharp pain in his back.
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Some sharp object had pierced his back.
Sharp and cold.
Kumo's father immediately turned around to grab, but found nothing behind him.
And the icy weapon that pierced his back was gone, disappeared without a trace.
He could only feel warm liquid continuously pouring out from his back.
Then, the sharp object pierced his thigh.
Removed.
Pierced his side.
Removed.
Slashed his calf.
In the darkness, he felt like he encountered a ghost.
Maybe, he was just having a nightmare.
Kumo's father sincerely begged this.
Because if this was not a dream...
Then he was going to die.
The final stab punctured Kumo's father's chest.
The intense pain caused him to convulse, fall to the ground, and start twitching uncontrollably.
Kumo's father, almost mad with pain, couldn't stop screaming. He had never experienced such excruciating pain in his life.
"You are too loud, Daddy." (Kumo)
Emerging from the darkness, Kumo picked up a pillow and pressed it against her father's head to silence him, leaving him only able to groan.
"Does it hurt, Daddy?" (Kumo)
Stepping on her father's struggling hands, Kumo prevented them from accidentally hitting her.
"Was it like this when Mom died, Daddy?" (Kumo)
With all her strength, Kumo pressed the pillow down until her father's struggle weakened.
"Don't worry, Daddy." (Kumo)
"I'll help you make a clean cut." (Kumo)
"I won't embarrass you, Daddy." (Kumo)
As she spoke, Kumo removed the pillow, raised the cleaver behind her head, spun around, and forcefully brought it down.
Kumo's father's head was now separated from his body.
Unfortunately, the cut was not clean and smooth.
