Banquet of Silence

The night had never felt so still. The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses all were gone. Inside Mr. Charles Ifeanyi's home, the air was heavy with the stench of blood, bile, and death. The living room was a slaughterhouse; the walls painted with gore, chunks of flesh clinging to glass, and the carpet soaked in a dark crimson pool.

The questions burned through Charles's mind like fire: Why? Who sent them? What sin had earned this hell? Was this revenge? Or was it something far more senseless an act born from pure, calculated malice?

His voice shook as he pleaded, What do you want? Take the yacht. Leave the rest of my family alone.

The masked men exchanged glances, one of them nodding almost casually as though they had indeed come for the yacht. A moment of false hope flickered inside Charles, until the leader took the yacht keys from his trembling hands¦ and threw them out the window.

The truth hit him like a blow: This isn't about money.

The kitchen connected seamlessly to the living room, an open space now filled with terror. Without a word, one of the masked men turned on the gas cooker, placed a large pot of water on the flames, and slowly began dismembering Charles's still-breathing parentsfirst the hands, then the feet.

The boiling water hissed. The flesh sizzled. The masked men stood there, motionless, as if feeding on the fear more than the act itself.

Then came the next horror Charles and his wife were ordered, with silent gestures, to eat the flesh. No words were spoken, but the message was clear: Refuse, and you die.

Charles fed pieces to his limbless father, his own stomach churning, bile burning his throat. His wife gagged as she tore at the meat, tears streaming down her blood-streaked face. Even the baby sweet, innocent was forced to chew.

Charles wanted to scream, to fight, but before he could move, an axe swung down. His wife's head rolled across the floor, the sound of it knocking against the leg of a chair echoing through the silent room.

Now only Charles, his limbless mother, and his child remained. The attackers were soaked blood, sweat, piss, and something darker clinging to them. They had taken everything, and yet¦ they still hadn't spoken a single word.

What did they want? And why?

Because in the Banquet of Silence, the meal was only the beginning.