The Masked Carnival

This is a story about an ancient dark life form that seizes human lives in order to reproduce itself. KALKU attempts to propagate more of its kind on Earth through surrogate motherhood, thereby expanding its dwindling dark power. The birth of new human life is inherently accompanied by pain, and the reproduction of KALKU’s life is no exception—only the pain that should have been borne by them is instead shifted onto humans. As they search for the perfect “human womb,” young men and women swayed by desire become their ideal targets. Our story unfolds against this backdrop—

Pedro

Every weekend when Megan sees me, she still hugs me just as she did when she was seven. Her slender arms wrap around me, her eyes tightly shut, as if she’s grown right onto me. Each time, she spins two full circles in place, and under the influence of centrifugal force, she seems to hover in midair, experiencing the thrill of a human Ferris wheel. This fills me with both excitement and heartache. I want her to cling to me. Yet I also resent my own waning physical strength—yes, Megan is growing up so fast. Every one of these games we share has become something I must remember and long for. 

As soon as Megan walks in, she still runs over to hug me like before. “Hey, my dear daughter,” I say in a high-pitched, enthusiastic voice. She rests her head on my chest, saying, “It’s been so long.” She’s grown taller again. When I try to give her a spin, she laughs it off and refuses. “Dad, I don’t want to hurt your back or legs.” 

Every Friday night, Megan appears at my door like a ghostly vision. The sound of her mother’s car purrs softly, and her footsteps echo as she makes her way to my empty apartment. I hoard these golden moments, savoring them slowly on busy Tuesday mornings or lonely Wednesday lunchtimes. They remind me that beyond my indifferent work and the endless barrage of voicemail complaints from Megan’s mother—my ex-girlfriend, “that bitch”—there is far more meaning in my life. 

“What’s the plan, Dad?” Megan asks as she tosses her backpack by the bedroom door. In the wardrobe hang her clothes for all four seasons, and on her desk sits the “Rabbit Cat” she’s “raised” since she was three—a stuffed animal with a rabbit’s head and a cat’s body, its fur in her favorite silver-gray hue. 

The room I’ve prepared for her is as neat and sterile as a presidential suite in Shangri-La—so that whenever she feels down or torn about where to spend the night, she can immediately think of her father’s home as a safe haven. During the time we spend together, I always rack my brains to find fun activities for her, making sure she never feels bored. 

“How about we go to the movies tomorrow?” I sit back on the sofa, and she snuggles up beside me, just as she did when she was learning to walk. “Sure! Let’s watch an old movie that’s from your generation! Hehe.” 

—Oh God, I love my daughter so much. 

“After the movie…” she says, sinking into the sofa, “shall we take a stroll at the farmers’ market? I’d like to buy some ingredients to make honey cookies.” 

To be honest, I hate farmers’ markets—the deceitful vendors, the crowded crowds, the muddy stone paths, the stinking vegetables... The smell of decaying organic matter fills my nose with the scent of death. “What? Why would she want to go there?” Of course, I don’t say it out loud. I know that if my daughter wants to go, there must be a reason—perhaps she’s grown up and no longer recoils at such unromantic places. 

I realize why now: her mother loves eating so-called “all-natural” foods. Clearly, her household—my former home—is now filled with smoothies, kale salads, and low-sugar foods. Meanwhile, my kitchen is piled high with alfajores and cream-filled coffee… My daughter tells me with a pitying smile that these things will make me fat—and worse yet, could kill me. In her gentle, caring tone, I can’t help but hear the condescending voice of her mother—“that bitch”—which is truly deadly. 

I feel overwhelmed by guilt over how few weekends I get to spend with my daughter. Forget about the smelly farmers’ market—if she likes it, I wouldn’t hesitate to follow her even to hell— 

“I’ll go wherever you want, my dear daughter.”

Mia

College is the perfect time to "experiment." No, I’m not talking about titrating hydrochloric acid with sodium hydroxide in chemistry class—I mean persuading yourself to try challenging forbidden things, things that are both terrifying and exhilarating...

"If we don’t push our limits, how will we ever discover who we truly are or what we’re capable of?" That was my boyfriend Matteo’s eloquent pitch when he issued his "invitation."

"Well... I suppose it’s not impossible..." I didn’t refuse, but was the person in front of me still even my boyfriend?

"Really? Mia, really? You’re fucking awesome..." Matteo struggled to hide his excitement.

"Who’s she? Do you have someone in mind?" Matteo asked.

"She? Why not him?" I forced a dry laugh.

"Heh, well, fairness matters. That could work too..." Matteo shrugged.

"Megan," I said casually, naming her with ease.

"Whoa..." Matteo’s breath caught.

I loved watching him feign surprise. I knew exactly why he was pretending.

Ever since Megan joined our anatomy lab group—though strictly speaking, she wasn’t a full member yet since she was only 16 and far too young to attend college as my freshman. She was just participating in our department’s summer lab program as an intern. Still, this little enchantress had monopolized my boyfriend’s attention and conversation topics since arriving.

At first, I’d been jealous. But after seeing Megan up close, I couldn’t deny her beauty. Every time she shed her jacket and donned her lab coat before experiments, her flawless silhouette drew everyone’s gaze. During afternoon tea breaks, she sat silently on the sofa, the sunlight framing her with a golden glow... what man—no, what being—couldn’t be enthralled by such a captivating creature?

I felt grateful Matteo was being so honest rather than sneaking around behind my back.

I knew he wanted me to personally approach Megan, to persuade her myself. It would sound less jarring coming from a girl, so I invited Megan out for a drink before heading home together.

"Have you ever been with a girl before?" I asked bluntly after her fifth beer. Of course, Megan looked like she wanted one too, but all she had was iced soda water.

Matteo spluttered with laughter, spraying his drink and wetting his pants. I knew he’d done it deliberately; I wanted to toss the rest of my beer in his face. He excused himself to the bathroom.

"Um... no... not yet..." Megan replied, blunt yet cryptic, her cheeks flushing, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Mateo

In the harsh morning light of summer, father and daughter arrived at the farmers' market, where rows of stalls crisscrossed haphazardly along the stone embankment. For some reason, the fish being sold so early in the morning were nothing but rotten shrimp and stinking fish.

Megan skipped along happily, while Pedro followed closely behind, still somewhat reluctant at heart. It had rained the night before, and the pitted stone road had put Pedro in a foul mood, only to have him step into a mud puddle.

Megan, however, was in excellent spirits. Between her denim shorts and tall pink rain boots stretched two healthy, smooth-skinned long legs. Yes, those rain boots even had a hand-painted bunny-cat on them.

Megan flitted between stalls like a hummingbird, while Pedro watched her as one would watch a favorite film. Seeing her only two days a week, time seemed to fast-forward before his eyes.

In Pedro's eyes, Megan was still a child. But he noticed changes in her. She had begun to complain that the skirt he'd bought her just half a month ago was already too old; when Pedro reminded her to get a haircut, she swept her hair aside and complained about when she could finally have glamorous long hair. "Who does she want to glamour?" Pedro wondered.

Worse still, from the way other men looked at his daughter, Pedro detected that Megan seemed no longer a child—"How can they not see her childlike innocence and charm?" Pedro grumbled. "Megan is the only remaining innocence in my life." This sentence kept bouncing around in Pedro's head.

Megan bounced along, leading Pedro to a honey vendor's stall. Behind the crude display stood a young man. The moment Megan saw him, a faint neon flush rose to her cheeks. Pedro suddenly realized Megan's true purpose in proposing this trip to the farmers' market—"Megan actually dragged me here specifically to meet a guy... I've been manipulated!"

"Mateo, this is my dad. Dad, Mateo is my senior from junior year." Megan's eyes sparkled with affection as she spoke.

"I hated him instantly," Pedro thought.

"He's super excellent! Look, he harvested all this honey himself!" Megan pointed at the honey jars, as if this young man had achieved something unprecedented in human history.

"Is he a bee?" Pedro asked with a cold sneer.

Mateo maintained his smile, showing neither fear nor shyness, and extended his hand to Pedro like a soldier. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Pedro."

"How did you know I'm a doctor?" Pedro was taken aback.

"I told him you're a pharmacist," Megan said. Mateo quickly nodded. "I think pharmacists are cool. I've actually thought about going to medical school myself."

"Medicine is medicine, pharmacy is pharmacy—two completely different things," Pedro pointed out the distinction without hesitation, making himself seem quite unapproachable. Normally, if someone else had said such a thing, Pedro would have simply laughed it off.

"Still, I think I have plenty of time to decide whether to go to medical school," Mateo remained smiling, though his eyes drifted uncertainly.

"Megan doesn't have that much time..." Pedro knew what he wanted to say, yet didn't know what he had actually said.

"Exactly. I was thinking the same thing." Mateo grinned. In Pedro's eyes, this smile was thoroughly unlikable.

"Senior Mateo is a part-time beekeeper." Megan handed Pedro a pyramid-shaped jar from the table. Through the thin glass, amber honey flowed like lava, and deep within the honey, a dead bee floated suspended.

"You keep bees and harvest honey all by yourself?" Pedro asked.

"Of course!" Megan answered for him.

Mateo nodded, gazing affectionately at Megan, seemingly embarrassed by her praise. "Actually, I've been doing this for less than a year..."

"Well," Pedro didn't know what else to say, though both young people were waiting for his praise, if only to avoid awkwardness. "Fine, I'll try it later." Pedro displayed a cold enthusiasm. "How much are you selling it for?"

Mateo shook his head, as if Pedro's words had offended him. "No, Mr. Pedro, I won't take your money! Please take it! I know how much Megan loves honey."

"What a joke, since when does Megan love honey?" Pedro thought with disdain, pulling out two crumpled bills and tossing them on the table. "We don't take things for free." The wadded money slowly unfurled, like a pile of dog shit no one wanted to clean up, standing between the two men. "Take it. Seeing how hard you work, I suppose you're... saving up... for medical school?"

Mateo forced out a faint smile, whether from helplessness or anger, but didn't take the money.

"Put it away!" Megan stuffed the money into Mateo's breast pocket, then said softly, "I'd like to stay here with him for a while, okay?" Megan pressed her palms together, casting a pleading look at Pedro. "He needs my help."

Pedro's eyes widened as he looked around—Saturday morning, with sparse crowds moving slowly. Here, people weren't really in a hurry to buy anything, let alone non-essentials like honey—"Not only have I been manipulated, I've been thoroughly betrayed!" Pedro thought. He glanced at his watch. "Fine, if you don't want to miss the movie, don't stay more than fifteen minutes."

"No problem!" Megan practically skipped around the table to Mateo's side.

"It's no longer three people here, but a clearly divided two versus one..." The more Pedro thought about it, the more bitter he felt.

"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Pedro," Mateo said with a smile.

"It's pharmacist... Mao," Pedro corrected Mateo.

"It's Mateo, Dad!" Megan corrected Pedro.

Pedro walked away heavily, clutching a jar of honey—"I've been fired."

Mia

Watching Matteo desperately trying to hide his excitement, I got excited too. I even started recalling how eager Matteo looked when he undressed Megan, like he was desperate to mate. And when I looked at Megan again, I instantly understood why he was pouring all his hormones over her...

I told myself it didn't matter, I didn't care. I deliberately stayed outside for a long time just to satisfy his desire to be alone with Megan. Matteo was somewhat considerate—he actually noticed that I seemed absent-minded but was actually quietly observing them the whole time. But he still misunderstood—that wasn't surveillance, no... I was just curious whether his eyes when he stared at Megan were different from when he looked at me.

Now, his neck is flushed red, he's whispering intimately with Megan, he wants to sleep with her right now, immediately, at once. I'm jealous. I used to sit across from him too, my face pressed against his, smelling the alcohol on his breath, feeling his warm hormones.

I don't want to be angry, I can't be angry. After all, I agreed to this situation, and I hate being the kind of cowardly girlfriend who dares to say but not do. It's just that Megan seems excessively arrogant, as if stealing someone else's boyfriend is some kind of impressive achievement.

Actually, I want to get back at her—let him know he's just Megan's present tense, that he'll be the first person she dumps after starting college, not even needing to wait that long, because if there were other men around now, a slut like Megan would spread her legs immediately—they're just tools to her.

Honestly, I want Matteo to feel the sting of jealousy even more, even want to humiliate him a little, so he can become the old Matteo again and drop that toxic masculinity. By then, he'll be grateful for everything I've done for him, and he'll realize I'm the one who deserves to be cherished.

"I remember you mentioned there's a place where we can play... uh..." When it actually came time to speak, I got a bit stuck.

"Play what?" Matteo asked.

"Uh, group sex," I blurted out.

"What?" Matteo's eyes widened.

"You're chickening out," I provoked him.

"You're willing?" Matteo asked incredulously.

"You should ask Megan, not me..." I knew he was tempted, so I kept provoking him.

"Ask me what?" Megan said, holding a drink, somehow standing behind us now.

"A fun place where everyone gets high to the point of ecstasy... you know, and everyone wears masks, no pain, no one gets hurt. Afterwards nobody knows each other, nobody has any pressure..." Matteo explained rather long-windedly. "It's just opening a few mystery box boyfriends, very exciting, just afraid you wouldn't dare to play..." Mia goaded Megan. "Now?" It was obvious Megan was tempted.

"Immediately, right now." I glanced at Matteo—he's an animal who thinks with his lower half, only capable of nodding. "I want to go, but I promised my dad I'd go home..." This was Megan's last bit of hesitation.

"It'll be one night at most, how could Pedro... Mr. Pedro not agree?" Matteo said, stroking Megan's face.

Pedro

The first weekend Megan wasn't around, she said she was staying over at a friend's house.

The second weekend, she said she had an important exam to prepare for.

The third weekend, she texted me saying she had a date with Matteo.

I immediately called "that bitch," and got the answer I had already anticipated. I had reason to suspect "that bitch" encouraged Megan to spend her time with me elsewhere. Just like she did back then, wasting away time bit by bit until we completely lost sight of each other.

Megan said her mom thought Matteo was wonderful, and she didn't see any problem with the age difference between me and Matteo—after all these years, "that bitch" still hasn't figured out anything about age.

The man who shook my hand that day wasn't as innocent as my daughter. He knew things he shouldn't know, yet didn't understand what he should have understood... or perhaps, perhaps it was my daughter who should have understood. If "that bitch" had married me, I could see my daughter every day. These lost weekends wouldn't be so painful now. "Megan has reached the age where she likes boys, has crushes on them, she wants to spend all her time with them... actually it's quite normal, isn't it?" "That bitch's" words kept echoing in my ears, driving me crazy.

The time I spent with my daughter was already pitifully scarce, and now my weekends belonged to another man. How could I think this was normal?

"Under no circumstances can we let him steal our weekends! But who exactly is this Matteo?"

Megan

I wore a carnival mask bought from a dollar store by the roadside, feeling somewhat exposed. Their masks were incredibly realistic, covering their entire heads, but they told me not to worry, just to relax. But with their heads completely enclosed in rubber masks, weren't they really hot?

Matteo and Mia looked super sophisticated, they must have done this many times before, I couldn't show fear in front of them. Matteo told me that as long as I followed the rules here, they would give me a mask next time, a realistic one like theirs.

There were about a dozen or so people, crowded bodies making one afraid to approach. Their bodies were covered in paint or grease, twisting with an almost bestial curvature. Everywhere my eyes could see, breasts stood high, hands wantonly clawing at skin, bodies rubbing against each other with ravenous hunger, each person's carnality seeming to nourish the others.

At first, Matteo and I pressed tightly together, flirting with each other. After two rounds, Matteo disappeared. I was about to go get a drink when a man wearing a black wasp mask broke away from the crowd and walked toward me. His upper body was bare—wow, did Matteo change masks? The splattered paint on his body made his muscular lines even more defined and contoured. Mia winked at me, her eyes full of suggestive charm. What did she mean? Was she using this occasion to ceremonially exit our love triangle?

The Black Wasp walked straight up to me. Turns out there was a head of fiery red hair hidden under the mask—Matteo's mask was quite special. Mia didn't hesitate at all, gave me a push, and the Black Wasp smoothly pulled me into his embrace. So it was indeed Mia's planned exit game. The slight embarrassment I originally felt melted away completely. This would be an experience the three of us shared, something we could laugh about together in the future, our love and friendship would surely become even stronger.

When the Black Wasp's hand gently rested on my shoulder, I still trembled a little, but his probing fingers skillfully caressed my back, and I quickly melted into his fingertip dance...

Half an hour passed like half a minute. I saw Matteo hiding in the corner, staring at me and the Black Wasp. Could the Black Wasp who made me enjoy myself so much not be Matteo? Sure enough, there was a man even sexier and more understanding than Matteo. Matteo was never faithful to me—good, very good, let him watch carefully!

Just as I began to enjoy myself, he turned and left, and my satisfaction disappeared with him. I wanted to chase after him, but at that moment a pair of intoxicating hands began caressing my shoulders. If I wanted to find another man to offset the frustration Matteo brought me, I couldn't think of anyone more healing than the Black Wasp.

The Black Wasp took my hand and led me into a room. The lights quickly dimmed, and naked bodies glowed with a faint luminescence. Countless hands caressed my body, endless pleasure surging from all around. I let myself be swallowed by bodily contact, let myself be surrounded by swirling streams of light, let myself drift and tumble through the air. I heard my own moans growing louder and louder...

Black Bees

The setting sun was like blood. In the desolate wilderness, a brick house stood silently. Weathered by wind and rain, the house bore only mottled traces.

Pedro parked his car in front of the house, checked his phone's GPS, and the navigation showed he had reached his destination. He turned off the engine, got out, and pushed open the door. Suddenly, a dark mass rushed toward him, accompanied by a low humming sound. Pedro waved his hands, and the swarm dispersed. He turned on his phone's flashlight and swept it across the dim room.

Several yellowed beehive design drawings hung on the walls. Beehives were scattered haphazardly in every corner of the room—some deformed, others looking sticky. Pedro approached one beehive and lifted the lid, but it fell off completely, causing the bees to become frantic, flying up and down, crawling in and out in chaotic disorder. Their movements were strange, as if they had lost their proper vitality.

A strange odor permeated the room. Pedro dipped his finger in a glob of dripping honey, smelled it, then gently tasted it with his tongue. A taste of humus assaulted his palate.

Pedro turned off his phone's light and sat in the corner of the room, gazing out the window. The apiary was surrounded by large patches of overgrown grassy slopes, without a single flower. Time seemed to congeal in a dusty, burnt yellow—he and the swarm of bees flying in the room were both waiting for something, in unison.

The setting sun sank, and the last glimmer of twilight faded. Almost simultaneously, the bees in the room seemed to have a switch flipped, boiling over one by one, shooting in all directions like bullets, crashing wildly through the room.

Pedro became the target of the swarm's attack. He quickly threw on his jacket, covered his head, and fled in panic. He dove into his car, but the relentless bees pursued him, their stingers extended long. He swatted them away with one palm. Only then did he discover with shock that the dying bees had turned black! So the only creatures in this barren land were black bees that hid by day and emerged by night.

"Is this Matteo's apiary? What the fucking hell!" Pedro was both confused and furious. Large swarms of black bees surged toward him, wave after wave crashing against the car windows. Pedro quickly drove away.

A figure wearing what seemed to be a black bee mask emerged from the apiary.

Megan

As night fell, the lights gradually disappeared. The fluorescence grew increasingly vivid, the panting grew increasingly heavy, and pleasure approached the peak of climax.

I had stayed pressed close to The Black Wasp almost the entire time, and I had allowed so many people to touch me, passing me around like a toy. There was no embarrassment in the darkness; no one criticized me for being underage; no inexplicable, irritating jealousy—everyone celebrated this wonderful time together, accepting everything before them—this was a ritual, a primitive and ultimate release of the self. The world would refresh at this moment, and new life would be born in the psychedelic, wild ecstasy.

Between the raised arms and writhing waists of the crowd, I vaguely saw The Black Wasp beckoning to me. I passed through the wet bodies of the people and came before him. He held me powerfully yet gently, and we pressed tightly together. His low moans resonated with mine, and another wave of pleasure surged forth—we were a harmonious whole.

A cold wind blew, and I shivered.

The thought of leaving here, never knowing who he was, possibly never seeing him again, caused me unbearable pain. I had a strong desire to see what this man pressed so close to me actually looked like. Just one glance, even half a second—at least so I could recognize him if we met again...

My hand slid over his neck and gently pulled at the mask on his face... but it wouldn't come off. I pulled hard, and the living fur beneath the mask pulled with it. He growled low and pushed me away. Suddenly, all sounds in the dance hall seemed to be tainted by his growl, the hissing moans becoming shrill, the carnal clamor enveloping me. Yes, the devil was humming.

At first I thought the sound engineer was playing tricks, but one by one, these people began making sounds identical to the masks they wore. The bull-faced man with the nose ring knelt on the ground, his eyes glaring furiously, his muscles painted red coiling and knotting. He looked more terrifying than Picasso's wild bull.

"Run!" Mia suddenly appeared, grabbing me and running toward the door. She tripped as soon as she stepped outside, falling into endless darkness. Then, hands reached for me, gripping my shoulders tightly, holding my waist firmly. I refused, I retreated, but to no avail. The Black Wasp grabbed my thigh, his sharp black nails piercing my skin, tearing open my thigh.

I screamed and struggled forward. The Black Wasp was shocked that I showed no gratitude toward him. I crawled to the wall but couldn't find the door. The Black Wasp spread his arms—his entire body was pitch black yet glowing with iridescent light.

I felt along the wall, groping for the door in the darkness, but touched a person—oh God, it was Mia—she was already dead. The Black Wasp pounced, pinning me firmly beneath him. I dared not look at him, closed my eyes, and screamed desperately.

"Megan? Wake up!"

I slowly opened my eyes—the lights were on, everyone surrounding me, staring at me.

"Are you okay?" The Black Wasp stood before me with his meticulously crafted human body, asking softly. He began tearing off his mask. I almost screamed again—the rubber mask slid off easily—those strong cheekbones and deep eyes were all too familiar. He seemed to be Matteo—only more handsome, stronger, more mature.

Terrified and disoriented, I fled in panic, hastily throwing on my clothes as I stumbled away.

"Stop her! She knows too much!" A woman wearing a goat mask lunged out, her voice carrying a harsh roar. That voice sounded so familiar—was it Mia? Then who had just died?

"Let her go. She'll come back when she's ready." The Black Wasp held back the goat-masked woman.

Pedro

Finally, on the fourth weekend since we last met, she appeared again like spring.

This was her home; she could have simply pushed the door open and walked in, but she knocked like a stranger. I opened the door, and she leaped into my arms as she always had, holding me tight. Everything was back to normal. When my baby girl dropped her backpack at the doorway and collapsed beside me, I saw her eyes—still bright, but mixed with an unmistakable confusion.

My hatred for Matteo surged through me.

Megan was far too young for such emotions, a painful lesson drawn from the failed past I shared with her mother. I had even deliberately suppressed those memories, letting them grow distant, like something that happened to the neighbors. But what happened? Resentment and sordid history all came rushing back as if they had occurred just yesterday, all because of a sixteen-year-old boy. Such feelings don't last; love can die at any moment, but Megan wouldn't listen to this.

She said she didn't want to go anywhere tonight. "I just want to lie down and watch a movie, okay?" I had no objections. I put on The Wizard of Oz, her childhood favorite, and fed her the boxed pizza she loved most. It seemed our little world of two had truly returned to normal.

It wasn't until after brushing her teeth that evening that she finally gathered her courage. "Dad, I have to tell you something." She stood before me in her striped pajamas, her stuffed bunny-rabbit clutched under her arm, fear in her eyes—"I might be pregnant."

My heart sank. The inevitable had arrived. "That fucking son of a bitch, I'm going to kill him!" A beastly roar rolled through the room. The leftover pizza flew across and left a greasy streak on the wall...

I yelled at her. I said I was utterly disappointed in her. I said she was an idiot for not using protection. I called him a pedophile and swore I'd chop him into pieces... I don't remember what else I said.

Megan kept crying. My daughter's tears pierced through my rage, and I deflated. I wanted to hold her and apologize. "Baby, I'm sorry. But this really scared me."

Her body had gone rigid. She pushed me away. "Mom said you'd react like this."

"What? She already knows?"

"Of course. She told me to tell you tonight." She wiped her tears on her pajama sleeve, her gaze drifting. "She said you'd be furious, but I didn't believe her then..."

I controlled my surging anger. "What did that bitch say?"

Megan clutched her bunny-rabbit tighter. "She said this happening now is really bad timing. She also said she really has no right to criticize me, because you two did the same thing." Her expression turned sly—I caught that slyness that came from her mother.

"Yes, we did. And the price we paid was a lifetime." I sat down at the table, head in my hands. "Does Matteo know? I assume it's Matteo's." She froze—I had actually humiliated her with such words.

"Of course he'll know. I'm seeing him Monday, I'll tell him then." Anger flashed in Megan's eyes.

My mind raced, sifting through options, searching for solutions, wishing for an eraser to wipe away memory. "You don't have to do this. Baby, I can arrange something for tomorrow... He'll never need to know." My voice grew high-pitched. Megan was stunned. Suddenly I felt something was wrong. "No, he should know. He should pay for this bill. How dare he stay out of it!"

"What are you talking about?" she interrupted. "Arrange what for tomorrow? What bill!" She was choking back sobs. "Baby, I just meant..."

"You think I would give up this child?" The roar filled the room again—this time, it was her anger.

"It can't even be considered a fetus yet..." I stammered in rebuttal. The word "fetus" felt like an incantation of reincarnation descending upon me. Once you give it a name, it immediately becomes a fetus, which means new life is about to be born. "...Right now, it's just a cluster of cells that will ruin your entire life. Giving birth to it would be absolutely the wrong decision!"

"So giving birth to this cluster of cells—me—was the wrong decision? Aborting this cluster of cells—me—would have been the right decision?" Megan spoke with a tone I had only ever heard from "that bitch" before.

"Megan, that's not what I mean... Baby, you're still young, you don't know what it represents..."

"Whatever it represents, the decision is mine to make! I can't believe you could say such things!"

"Baby..."

Megan ran away crying.

Megan

I'm not afraid of spiders, nor of snakes, so how could I fear these buzzing black bees?

When I first moved into Matteo's house, I thought I was ready. Sure, we would still argue over stupid things, but we loved each other, and that should have been enough for him to love this future child as well. At first I wasn't afraid. I thought I wanted it—we wanted it.

Yet I began to fear. I feared the clump of cells in my belly—though my father's words were crude, they were true. It grew inside my body, breathed in my blood, replaced my organs, until it would finally tear a round, swollen head from my body, and I would lose myself.

"No, you will give birth to it, you must." Matteo said only this, resolute and decisive.

I've lived here for almost a month, and he hasn't even asked how I feel. He doesn't care about me at all, only about the child in my belly. I feel like nothing but a breeding tool. We began to argue, shouting at each other, explosions waiting to happen at any moment. I think he's too cold; he thinks I'm just another stupid woman from a soap opera who can't face reality. Every time we reached an impasse, he would push me away and storm off.

...I finally understood. I was no longer the one he pursued and cherished. I could only mourn for shattered dreams and the emptiness of life. I would have to endure my aching body, wearily waiting for the intensifying pain to erode me... I finally began to ask myself—if only I had shown more restraint, or been more selfish after giving in, living for myself, perhaps I would have found some mercy.

I feared more that in the days to come I would sink into regret—regret that my suddenly changed life had thrust upon me the responsibility of childbearing, regret for all the bright possibilities lost from my life. All regrets piled up would make me unable to love him anymore.

But what I feared most was that even so, I still loved him—that agonizing love—to the point that I sacrificed everything for him, neglecting my father, my mother, my friends, and myself who was still a child with a child...

I hadn't seen him for ten weeks, enough time to make me doubt every decision I'd ever made in my life. Then suddenly, at two in the morning, he appeared, reeking of death, climbing into my bed, apologizing endlessly.

I felt relieved—he was back, and I didn't even mind that he was dazed like an addict. He climbed on top of me again like at the masquerade ball, and I was ignited by his fiery passion once more... In that moment, I thought everything would be alright.

"I'm so glad you're back," I whispered, nestling against him.

"I've changed my mind," he said. "If you don't want this child... I can help you."

"No, I've made up my mind. You're already a father," I said firmly, and fell into a deep sleep.

But when I woke, I found my body bleeding profusely. I rushed to the bathroom, shouting for Matteo to save me, but he had vanished again.

A miscarriage isn't a "plop" and a piece of flesh falling out, then you're good as new. From morning till night that day, the "fetus" flowed out of me in blood clots of varying sizes, each one taking a piece of my soul with it. I screamed in agony on the bathroom floor.

Pain is good. At least it reminds me that besides those clots that just flowed away, I actually still have a body of my own... I barely stood up. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror. The spotted blood running down my thighs was enough to make me doubt—how could I call myself a mother when I couldn't even protect my own child.

I couldn't flush it away, couldn't abandon it, couldn't even touch it. I left it on the floor and crawled back to bed. I tossed and turned for a long time until the pain subsided.

But this was nothing compared to what Matteo had done to me. I don't know what he was thinking, to be so heartless, so cruel. He must have done it last night while I slept. Why kill my child... why not just kill me too.

I gradually lost consciousness, with only the buzzing of black bees in my ears...

"That bitch."

Standing outside the bitch's door, the minute spent waiting for her to open it was enough for me to recall all the wretchedness.

I really wanted to burst in and curse her out. I'd envisioned no less than ten ways to humiliate her. But by the time she opened the door and led me into the living room, I still hadn't spoken. I discarded all my imagined scenarios. In the minute it took for her to bring me coffee, I was immersed in an indescribable peace, looking at this relic of my past who had long since slipped away from me.

"I firmly believe Matteo doesn't want this child either. Whatever life plans he made, they definitely couldn't have included a child having a child..." I got straight to the point, but quickly regretted it —

The bitch had already painted me as a villain to Megan. And Megan was right; her mother refused to discuss the matter. I didn't even know if she was noncommittal or silently approving.

"It's all your fault. Why didn't you keep a closer eye on her?" I suppressed my anger.

"I wasn't the one who abandoned us. You were, you bastard." The bitch didn't back down.

"What is wrong with you? We're talking about Matteo now..."

"What you thought back then is probably what Matteo is thinking now." Her saying this proved completely what a bitter, vindictive bitch she was. No wonder she was called a bitch.

Yes, we didn't have an abortion back then either. But we didn't get married either, struggling for years on love and minimum wage. I worked the night shift at a grocery store to pay all the bills so I could attend pharmacy school during the day.

Nurturing love ultimately came at a high cost. Facing poverty and monotonous days, we grew to resent each other more and more, the hurts piled up. Finally, on the day I went bankrupt, our debt-ridden love went bankrupt too. I was exiled by reality to the margins of life — my lover became a bitch.

Back then, the bitch saw her future in the plus sign on the pregnancy test. For me, her entire existence is deeply etched into my past. I want to erase that mark completely. I desperately wish that wretched life belonged to someone else... until Megan was born... And now, this same cycle is entangling my precious daughter. The thought fills me with agitation.

But this "bitch" wants Megan to keep the baby. How can she let Megan be as selfish and shortsighted as she was? This will cause me pain all over again, and she seems to relish it. I can't persuade her to join me in convincing Megan — this time it's become two overly sentimental women against me alone.

"No, I can't let what we went through happen to our daughter!" I gritted my teeth forcing the words out.

The "bitch" was about to say something when the phone rang. It was from the hospital.

Infant

"She's been taking regular pregnancy tests for the past two months. As of last week, they all showed she wasn't pregnant. But she had all the symptoms—swelling, constant fatigue, morning sickness," the doctor said calmly. He was my colleague, a doctor who didn't joke around.

"So what's happening now?" Pedro was confused.

The doctor pulled out an ultrasound printout and clipped it to the light box. "Look, we did an ultrasound this morning and found a male infant in her womb, at least five months along..."

"What? How is that possible? Megan only said she might be pregnant two months ago."

"Yes, I find it very strange too, but the examination shows no signs of blood loss. All her vital signs are normal, and the fetus is healthy—very, very healthy..." The doctor couldn't explain what was happening. In the end, the only way he could convince Pedro was to suggest that Megan had experienced some strange hallucinations and that everything was actually fine.

But Megan couldn't believe any of it. She didn't know how to tell Pedro that she thought it was something else, just like she didn't know how to explain the claw marks on the inside of her thighs.

"I feel like there's a giant black hole growing inside me," Megan said. "I keep feeling something scratching at me from inside it..."

"Come home with me, sweetheart," Pedro said softly, holding his daughter's hand.

"Okay, thank you, Dad." Megan fell silent and gently closed her eyes.

But as soon as she closed her eyes, Megan felt as if she were back at Mateo's house, where the pool of blood in the bathroom clearly told another story. Megan didn't know what had flowed out of her body, but she couldn't bring herself to scoop it up for analysis.

Matteo' Father

When Pedro heard the knock at the door, both father and daughter thought Matteo had come to apologize. Pedro opened the door to find a frail old man standing there.

"I am Matteo's father. May I speak with Megan?" the old man said slowly, removing his hat.

Pedro let him into the house. Old Matteo sat down awkwardly. Megan came out of her room and stood at the living room door, looking at her father. Pedro then got up and left.

"I am sorry Matteo has been absent from your life. No one knows what they can bear until they carry it on their shoulders. I am proud of you both for enduring. But I want you to know, you can count on us," Old Matteo said to Megan sincerely.

Megan was still too kind-hearted. When she said Old Matteo was welcome to be part of his grandchild's life, the poor old man was moved to tears. He stood up and hugged Megan, gently patting her stomach.

The old man murmured about games Matteo used to play as a child and talked about what should be done as the baby grew. He promised to visit Megan and the child every week and asked if they needed anything. As he was leaving, he said, "I truly wish Matteo could be here for the child, to watch them grow up."

"Tell Matteo he is welcome to see the child..." Megan said.

"...even if he is no longer the child's father," Pedro interrupted. One must not be soft when it's time to be firm. Megan really is kind to the point of foolishness, Pedro thought.

Old Matteo gave a sad and embarrassed smile. "His funeral is this Sunday. I hope you and the child can come to say goodbye."

It wasn't until the door closed that Megan and Pedro realized—Matteo hadn't just left Megan and the child; he had left everything in this world.

Pedro

I waited until I could no longer hear her crying before attempting to go inside and talk to her. I sat on the edge of the bed while she lay curled up in despair.

I painted a realistic picture for her of what life would be like with a child. I spoke of long nights, financial struggles, health pressures, and an unplannable future. I spoke calmly, and she listened intently. In the eyes that met mine, I saw Megan's gaze mature into that of an adult—too quickly, unnaturally fast, it pained my heart.

"Would you like to think about it a little more..."

"No, Dad. There's no need. I've made my decision—I'm keeping my baby. I don't know what Mateo would think if he were alive, but I'd tell him the same thing. I'll support myself and the child..."

I closed my eyes—sixteen years ago, "that bitch" had said the exact same words; my heart felt as if cut by a knife—Megan wasn't even legally old enough to hold a job, yet she was about to care for a child...

Perhaps this was my fate, circling the same predicament—I was bound to help my daughter raise her child. Megan's view of life was childish; in her eyes, I was either a godfather-like savior or a cannibalistic demon—what choice did I have?

"Sweetheart, get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning," I said calmly.

"There's nothing more to talk about," she warned me. "I won't change my mind, and you can't force me to kill my baby." As she spoke, her eyes welled up with tears.

"Okay then, baby Megan." Before leaving the room, I kissed her forehead and left a softly glowing butterfly night light glowing in the corner.

Matteo

Megan last saw him at two in the morning two days ago, but she never mentioned it to anyone. The attendees at the funeral were all certain that Matteo had put the shotgun in his mouth two weeks prior. The "Matteo" who had been intimate with Megan that night said he wanted the child, but was that really Matteo?

Since then, Megan couldn't shake the thought—"The substance left on the bathroom floor was my child, from the real Matteo. What is growing inside me now—it must be from that Matteo at midnight." Megan didn't know who she should really be afraid of.

Megan heard the knocking at two in the morning again. She lay trembling in bed, holding her breath, hoping it would go away. No, it persisted. Cold, relentless knocking—as if the door would burst open with the next strike.

"I know you're there." It was unmistakably Matteo's voice; how could Megan not recognize it?

"Go away!" Megan shouted, instantly regretting it. The silence that followed for the next few seconds felt like an hour of torment. The quiet was terrifying, but the sound of the door opening was even more chilling. He was inside now, but the thought of a dead man staring at her... it was unimaginable. Megan fumbled for her phone on the nightstand and dialed emergency services.

"I need to report a crime, I need help," Megan said loudly into the phone, "There's someone in my house, it..."

"What's wrong with him? Megan." Matteo's voice came through the phone. Megan's hand shook so violently she could barely hold the phone.

This was all a nightmare—Megan thought she had to fall asleep and wake up again to drive the nightmare away. But how could she sleep when she clearly heard footsteps climbing the stairs?

"What did you promise me?" Matteo's voice was right outside the bedroom door.

Megan could barely breathe. Moving against her will, she got out of bed, felt her way to the door, and slowly opened it. Matteo leaned sideways against the doorframe, his face deathly pale. "What did you promise me last time I was here?" The room was dark, but the stench of death was all too familiar.

"But... the baby isn't born yet..." Megan stammered.

"He is my child, and I'm taking him now." Matteo leaned closer. The foul odor enveloped Megan, forcing her to breathe it in, like a piece of rotting flesh sliding down her throat.

"...If you take him now, I'll die," Megan said.

"I don't care, I want him now!" Matteo raised his stiff arm and wrapped it around Megan's abdomen...

Megan woke up with a gasp, startling Pedro, who was keeping watch beside her.

"Dad..." Megan clung tightly to Pedro.

Pedro

The next day, I walked into the hospital office under the rosy light of dawn. Some decisions cannot be negotiated; there is no room for hesitation.

I wrote the prescription and prepared the medication myself—mifepristone and misoprostol. After returning home, I woke Megan, who was still drowsy, and handed her the pills with a glass of water.

She asked groggily, "What is this?"

"Pregnancy-supporting medicine. If you plan to keep this child, you need to take it every few days to build up your strength," I said calmly and lightly.

She smiled and hugged me again in the way a seven-year-old would. I was reborn, transformed from a cannibalistic demon into her godfather. Happily, she took the medicine, and I suggested we should relax together over the weekend. She agreed, bouncing out of bed. Our lives resumed in a sunlit, fairy-tale atmosphere.

Munching on popcorn, she watched another favorite movie of ours, The Sound of Music, while I kept a close eye on the time. Six hours later, I took out another packet of pills.

"More medicine?" she asked, without a hint of suspicion.

"Prenatal vitamins," I said. "There are many on the market, but most aren’t great. This is a new formula—very effective, only needs to be taken once a week, and the best part is, it tastes good."

"Wow, really?"

"If you're serious about this, you'll have to get used to it... learning to care for the baby even during pregnancy."

"I will! You really love me, Dad." Her expression blended joy and emotion. Clearly, my care for her as an expectant mother and my plans for the future sounded utterly convincing—after all, I had been through it myself.

She never doubted me, never once considered that her father might be lying. Her boundless trust as a daughter solidified my resolve. I handed her the yellow pill, and she popped it into her mouth.

I sat in the dark for hours, until I heard her hysterical cry—"Dad, something’s wrong."

In the bathroom, she was curled up on the floor, clutching her abdomen, staring in terror as her womb expelled the obstacle that threatened her future. As she wept, I held her forehead, while her rabbit cat watched from the bedroom across the hallway.

By the dead of night, nothing remained inside her. Someday, she would learn the truth—perhaps she would hate me for it, or perhaps she would feel a secret relief. Either way, she was safe now.

"Dad... what can I do to get my baby back..." The first thing she said upon waking was to mourn her child.

And my first act was to comfort my child. "I’m sorry, my dear daughter," I whispered, tears in my eyes, pressing close to her hair. "...But life doesn’t allow us second chances..."

One Month Later

The Black Wasp

At night, Megan was sound asleep. Silver moonlight spilled across her pale face. The grandfather clock suddenly chimed twice; the hour hand pointed to two. Megan jolted awake, her body stiffening uncontrollably.

A shadow slowly emerged from a dark corner. Half his face appeared as if blasted away by a shotgun, while the other half revealed... it was Mateo. His hands gripped Megan's shoulders tightly, icy nails digging into her arms. He brought his mutilated face close to her ear, whispering intimately, as if only by confronting her husband's festering wounds could a wife prove her love.

Megan closed her eyes, her body trembling uncontrollably. Had Mateo truly returned? "Do you still love me?" Megan asked her former lover. "What matters is how you repay my love," Mateo countered. "If I can repay your love..." Each word Megan spoke carried the weight of her life, "...will you stay with us?" "Leave? I've only just returned..." Mateo pressed his face against Megan's. Megan opened her eyes gently. In her eyes, Mateo was no longer maimed or ugly, but radiated a powerful aura. "He is my soul. I am willing... willing to give everything for him..." Megan murmured, closing her eyes again. They kissed passionately, entwined once more...

Mateo dissolved into a swarm of black bees, swirling and dancing around Megan's body. Megan arched her back sharply, emitting a strange buzzing sound, as if from the deepest part of her being—indistinguishable between the ecstasy of new life or the lament of self-sacrifice.

The black bee swarm quickly dispersed. A sharp sting pierced her. 

Megan screamed in shock, her eyes wide open—she clearly saw her uterus rapidly swelling, as if she was about to give birth...

(The End)