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墨書 Inktalez
Grandmother seemed convinced that there was something wrong with the daughter-in-law in the woodshed, and her methods of torment escalated. She wouldn’t let Mother sit at the table for meals, forcing her to wear a gag every day. The leather strap dug into Mother’s mouth, drawing blood from the corners, yet it couldn’t suppress the stubbornness in her eyes that didn’t belong to her.
“You worthless wretch, how dare you be so ungrateful!” Grandmother jabbed thin bamboo sticks into the gaps of Mother’s fingernails, scolding as she did so, “Aren’t you capable? Come on, bite me!”
Father sat nearby, expressionless as he watched everything unfold.
“Mother,” he suddenly spoke, his voice strange and high-pitched, “You should stab her in the small of her back; that’s where it hurts the most.”
I watched this scene unfold, my stomach churning violently. Although this torment seemed minor compared to the beatings from before, seeing Mother in such a pitiful state still broke my heart.
At that moment, Mother somehow found the strength to break free from Grandmother's grip and stumbled to the corner of the room. With trembling fingers, she struggled to write a few shaky characters on the ground: “Save me... it’s...”
“Ha! You still want to plead for help?” Grandmother sneered and suddenly turned to walk into the kitchen.
When she returned, she held something in her hand—a pair of red-hot iron tongs.
“Don’t want to work, huh? Then let’s ruin those hands of yours completely!”
I clamped my mouth shut tightly to stifle a scream. As the tongs pressed against Mother’s palm, a burnt smell filled the air instantly. Mother convulsed in pain but couldn’t make a sound; all she could manage was a muffled whimper from her throat.
Father’s gaze flickered for a moment as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he bowed his head.
That night, while Grandmother was asleep, I quietly slipped into the woodshed where Mother was confined. I had taken a bun from the kitchen and tiptoed over to where Mother curled up in the corner.
“Dad...”
I tentatively spoke in a low voice, “Is that you?”
Mom suddenly lifted her head, a fierce glint flashing in her eyes.
She pounded against the door frantically, letting out a growl that sounded like a desperate cry, as if she had a thousand words to say but they were all blocked by the food in her mouth.
I was so frightened that I stumbled backward, and the bun in my hand fell to the ground with a thud.
“Xiao Yan.”
Suddenly, Dad's voice came from behind me, startling me. “Why aren’t you asleep at this hour?”
I turned around and saw Dad standing in the moonlight, looking at me with a complex expression.
But his gentleness vanished in an instant; his gaze turned cold, as if he were weighing something: “You shouldn’t be wandering around at a time like this.”
I returned to my room, heart racing, tossing and turning all night.
The next few days passed without incident; Dad continued to livestream every night, making fun of Mom as usual.
However, Grandma's gaze grew increasingly strange.
She would always stare at Dad, especially when he was eating.
Whenever Dad picked up his bowl, she would squint her eyes as if waiting for something.
“Son,”
one morning, Grandma suddenly said, “Do you remember when you stole my medicinal wine as a child and ended up rolling on the ground drunk and wetting your pants?”
Dad froze for a moment, a look of confusion crossing his face before he forced a smile and replied, “Ah... I remember.”
Grandma's eyes instantly turned cold.
In the afternoon, she did something even stranger.
She walked straight to the firewood room and pulled out a wine jug from her pocket, smashing it on the ground with a loud crash.
That was Dad's most treasured wine jug, said to be the only relic left by Grandpa.
He never allowed us to touch it, not even Grandma.
"Oh dear,"
Grandma said feigning innocence, "I accidentally broke the wine flask your father left for you."
Dad paused for a moment, then reacted, "Ah... it's fine, it was old anyway."
But Mom in the woodshed exploded with rage like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, letting out a series of incoherent roars as she struggled to break free.
My heart sank.
It was over; Grandma had found out.
That night, while rummaging for firewood behind the kitchen, I unexpectedly discovered a small cloth pouch hidden in a crack in the wall.
When I opened it, I found a small tuft of burnt hair, several strangely colored herbs, and a piece of yellow paper covered in symbols.
The ink on the talisman was still fresh, emitting a peculiar odor.
My heart raced as I recalled that rainy night a few days ago.
On that day, Dad had beaten Mom into near unconsciousness when a hunchbacked old woman suddenly appeared at the door, claiming she could heal her.
She had been holding those strange herbs.
The next day, both Mom and Dad started acting strangely.
I clutched the pouch tightly and waited for Grandma to leave before rushing to find Dad.
"Dad... no, Mom,"
I trembled as I pulled out the pouch, "Is this what you were hiding?"
Dad's expression changed drastically as he snatched the pouch from my hands, tears instantly welling up in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Xiao Yan,"
he sobbed in his father's voice, "Mom just... just couldn't take it anymore..."
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