Chapter 12: S#3. Heaven’s Razor (1)
by fnovelpia
Nancy’s garage was full of dusty tools.
Each tool was heavy, making it difficult for Nancy and Ellen to organize.
So, I decided to clean up the garage.
Thanks to my abnormal strength, I could lift tools or even half a rhinoceros with ease.
“Phew… What should I start with?”
The garage was my sanctuary.
I should be eager to clean, but I hesitated a bit.
Cleaning and organizing are among the activities to avoid in horror movies.
Whenever you clean in a horror movie, you always find something.
Rarely is it something good.
You tend to uncover terrifying secrets that could doom the world or the ugly truth about a spouse you thought was kind.
It has become more than a cliché; it’s practically a rule.
How can I clean without stumbling upon something bizarre…
As I was pondering and touching various things, the garage door opened.
Ellen peeked her head in.
“Oh. You’re cleaning the garage, Summer. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Hehe. Well, that’s good.”
Despite a terrible first meeting, my relationship with Ellen has improved.
Apart from being a bit temperamental, Ellen was as angelic as Nancy.
She even offered to let me rent a room on the second floor.
Of course, I declined. I didn’t want to impose too much.
I preferred the garage.
“Summer, I’m going to a publishing house in New York. I’ll be back in three days,” Ellen said.
Three days without Ellen.
I used to cheer inwardly when my mom left the house.
Now, it didn’t matter. Ellen wasn’t my mom, after all.
“Summer, can I ask one more favor before I leave?”
“Of course, Ellen.”
Ellen glanced at the clutter in the garage.
Tools and miscellaneous items were tangled in a mess. It looked like a junkyard.
“There’s a flea market in a few days. I’m planning to sell the useless stuff there. Could you sort out the garage items for me?”
“Sort them?”
“Into things to sell, not to sell, and to throw away. Three categories.”
“I’m to decide?”
“Yes. You’re a man, so you probably know the use of tools. You’d know if they’re broken or still functional.”
It sounds like an easy task… but it was actually quite hard.
I know nothing about tools.
I’ve only ever used screwdrivers and screws.
But I didn’t want to let Ellen down.
“I understand, Ellen. Leave it to me,”
I said, adopting the expression of an expert.
Ellen left after making her request.
I started the serious work of organizing & categorizing.
Items to sell / not to sell / to throw away.
Chainsaw – Useless, let’s sell.
Portable generator – Might need it in emergencies. Don’t sell.
Construction hammer drill – Why is this even here? Sell it.
Monkey wrench – Throw away.
While sorting, I found a strange box.
“What’s this?”
A discolored cube, about 30cm long.
Its surface was squishy. I couldn’t guess the material.
It didn’t look like a tool. What could this box be?
To sell? Not to sell? To throw away?
One thing was certain: it was an unpleasant item.
The texture of the box felt like rubber-coated raw meat.
I feared it might be Pandora’s box.
In horror movies, you have to be careful opening doors or boxes.
Because you never know what’s behind them.
I resolved never to open the box, turning it over in my hands.
“Uh?”
Then, I noticed something strange.
On one side of the box was an object of a familiar shape.
It was… an ear.
A human ear.
On other sides, there were eyes, lips, and a nose wrapped around.
The box had 2 eyes, 2 ears, a nose, and a mouth on its 6 sides.
This was a flesh-colored human box.
Ugh!
I felt disgusted.
It was so revolting that I wanted to throw it as far away as possible.
Then, the box’s closed eyes slowly opened.
“Who… are you…?”
Those were the words spoken by the box’s mouth.
I almost dropped the box in shock.
But I didn’t drop it.
Instead, I calmly placed the box on the workbench in the garage.
Its round eyes turned and stared at me.
The mouth moved.
“This is my house’s garage… Who are you? Why are you in my house?”
“Who are you…?”
“I am Nancy’s father.”
“Nancy’s father…? So, you’re Mr. Strode?”
I was speechless.
I had heard that Nancy’s father had gone missing in Mexico.
But there was no mention of him becoming a cube stuck in the garage.
Why he was in such a grotesque form was a mystery.
The box’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you, by any chance, Ellen’s new partner?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then Nancy’s boyfriend?”
“No. I’m just… a parasite who ended up stuck here by accident.”
“…..Well, that’s fine then.”
Could this really be Nancy’s father?
In American animations, characters squished by a compactor do become flat like this.
But this isn’t an American animation; it’s the world inside a horror movie.
The grotesque appearance of the box fits a horror movie perfectly.
A flesh-colored cube with facial features. It’s hard to guess what its internal structure is like.
Anyway, it’s clear that I’ve touched something I shouldn’t have.
Cleaning the garage was indeed a taboo in horror movies.
“Please, call my daughter.”
“Nancy?”
“Yes. I have something to ask her. A favor I can’t trust you with.”
I thought about it calmly.
The claim that the box is Nancy’s father is just that, a claim.
There’s no proof that it’s really her father.
“I can’t trust you either. I heard that Nancy’s father disappeared in Mexico over a decade ago. Now, you’re telling me a talking box stuck in the garage is him? I can’t believe that.”
“Hmm. Your point makes sense.”
The box said that, almost as if nodding.
“Then, for now, bring me to Nancy. I can prove to the girl that I’m her father.”
A box with no arms or legs, just facial features.
It doesn’t seem like it could harm Nancy.
It would be problematic if it suddenly transformed, but it appeared quite docile for now.
Well, if it suddenly becomes hostile and tries to harm Nancy, I could just squash it like a can.
“Alright. I’ll bring you to Nancy.”
I picked up the box and left the garage.
-The serial killer entered the house with the box.
An ominous atmosphere filled the house.
The afternoon sun felt sinister, resembling a demon.
The demon’s heart is said to be the demon’s treasure.
The narrator’s voice sounded out just as the box was placed on the kitchen table.
It would be nice if it provided useful information, but it only offered hard-to-understand descriptions.
And what does the last line even mean?
The demon’s heart is said to be the demon’s treasure?
It was incomprehensible.
In a voice low enough that the box couldn’t hear, I asked the narrator.
“Narrator. Is this hideous box really Nancy’s father?”
-The truth will be revealed in the end.
“Come on, give me a hint or something.”
-The serial killer began to talk to himself. His eyes were blazing with murderous intent.
“Why are you suddenly monologuing again? I’m asking you, not talking to myself.”
This is driving me crazy…
It randomly switches from conversation to monologue mode.
Anyway, it wasn’t very helpful.
The box on the table spoke up.
“Where’s Nancy?”
“She hasn’t come home yet. She’ll be here soon.”
“Hmm. Schools end late these days.”
“School? Nancy is 19. She’s a college student.”
“Has it been that long already… 19 years old…”
The eyes on the box became misty.
It was like a father moved by his daughter’s growth.
But I couldn’t let my guard down. Appeals to emotion are often tricks.
20 minutes later, Nancy arrived home.
I went towards the entrance, carrying the box.
I couldn’t leave the box alone.
Who knows what it might do when I’m not looking.
“Summer~ I’m home~!”
“Nancy, you’re back. There’s something…”
Just as I was about to show Nancy the box.
Someone else appeared behind Nancy.
Who is that?
I couldn’t show the box to someone other than Nancy.
I quickly hid the box.
“Oh? Summer, what’s that?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Who’s that with you?”
“Someone you must meet.”
Someone I must meet?
“Summer, let me introduce you! This is Dr. Johnson, who I met through a college friend.”
Dr. Johnson.
A middle-aged man with glasses as thick as the glass in an aquarium.
His face was like an anteater’s.
Who is he? Doesn’t seem like someone I must meet.
“Hello, Summer. I’m Dr. Johnson.”
“Ah… Hello. I’m Summer. It’s nice to meet you.”
I shook hands with Dr. Johnson, hiding the box behind me with the other hand.
It was an unwelcome handshake.
“Dr. Johnson is a luminary in the field of psychiatry with numerous achievements. He’s here to help you,” Nancy said.
Dr. Johnson behaved arrogantly, like a retired general expecting a salute.
My head spun.
Nancy believes I have a mental illness.
A rugged 30-something white man, thinking he’s a 20-something Korean…
I must seem mentally ill.
But I didn’t want a psychiatrist.
In horror movies, psychiatrists are the root of all evil.
They’re like grim reapers; it’s best to run away before getting entangled.
A talking box followed by a psychiatrist.
The worst turn of events.
The box hidden behind me squirmed.
“Nancy… Nancy…!”
It was the box’s desperate call. Nancy looked puzzled.
“Summer. Did you just call me?”
“No. It wasn’t me.”
“Then who…”
“Nancy, come here for a second.”
I took Nancy to the kitchen.
0 Comments