Not the way a scratch or a mosquito bite itches—not a surface thing. This was deep, a slow crawl beneath the gauze, like tiny legs moving along the seam where her skin used to be. Lukas wanted to scratch it for her. He always did. But Elias held his wrist under the table.
She smiled. It took too long to arrive. And when it did, it didn’t reach the eyes that weren’t quite her eyes.
“Sorry,” Lukas whispered.
Lukas studied her hands. The left one trembled slightly when she lifted the bowl. Their mother’s left hand had never trembled. She used to hold a cigarette steady through a two-hour phone call with Aunt Margit, ash never falling.
She sat across from them, eating soup with small, precise movements. The spoon clicked against her teeth each time—too loud, too regular. A metronome counting down to something. goodnight mommy 1
Here’s a short piece inspired by the tense, atmospheric horror of Goodnight Mommy (2014): The bandage itched.
Click.
Click.
“You’re staring,” she said. But her voice was wrong. Flat. Like someone had recorded their mother’s voice on old tape and was playing it back at half-speed. Not the way a scratch or a mosquito