Episode 11 : The Sink Overflowing

Ama's breath hitched as she gripped the phone tighter. "Tell me, Ama... do you ever wonder why Mark isn't at school?" The voice on the other end was laced with malice.

A cold shiver ran down Ama's spine. Not in her worst nightmares had she ever considered that Mark could be capable of such horrors. Her mind spiraled, tears streaming down her face as the thought of her parents consumed her. Atlas grabbed her shoulders, shaking her back to reality.

The call had disconnected.

"Ama, are you okay?" Atlas asked, though he already knew the answer.

Ama exhaled shakily, her whole body trembling. Her heartbeat pounded so loud it was deafening. The very idea of her parents being in danger, of Mark being behind it—it was unbearable.

Atlas, reading her expression, placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Nothing will happen to them. Why would Mark do this? He's your friend, Ama."

She snapped, her voice breaking as she screamed at him. "He can do it! He blames me for his mother's death! He would definitely take revenge on my innocent parents!"

Atlas was speechless. The weight of her words settled over him like a suffocating fog. He didn't know how to react, but he knew one thing—he had to act before Ama shattered like fragile glass. He himself was shaken to the core by all these threats, by all this new information.

"Ama, calm down. Call your mother. See if they're safe. Maybe someone is just trying to mess with you."

With trembling hands, Ama dialed her mother's number. The phone rang, but no one picked up.

Her voice quivered. "Her phone is off."

Atlas frowned. "Try your dad. Maybe your mom's phone just ran out of battery."

Nodding frantically, Ama dialed her father's number. The call rang for what felt like an eternity before someone finally answered.

"Hello, Dad?" Ama's voice cracked.

A familiar yet chilling voice responded, "Hello, baby girl. So desperate to talk to me that you couldn't even wait until your parents' funeral? I told you, didn't I? We'll talk when we meet there."

"Poor little Ama, you really thought you could outrun this, didn't you? That if you ignored the warnings, they would go away?"Ama (shaky voice): "Where are my parents?"Killer (mocking chuckle): "Hmm… let me think. Your dad? Still breathing—barely. Your mom? Oh, she put up quite a fight. A little too much for my liking. Should I tell you what she said before she—"Ama (screaming): "Shut up! You're lying! You're lying!"Killer (amused): "Am I? Then why is your voice shaking, Ama? Why do you sound like a scared little girl who already knows the truth?"Atlas (grabbing the phone, furious): "If you touch them—"Killer (interrupting, amused): "Oh, Atlas, you're adorable. But this isn't about you. This is about Ama. This is about how she'll crumble when she walks into that house. How she'll never be able to erase what she's about to see."

Ama felt the world crash around her. "You motherfucker! If you do anything to my parents, I swear I'll kill you!" she screamed in pure rage.

The killer chuckled darkly. "Oh? Are you hurting my ego, girl? Do you want them dead even sooner than I planned? Well then, your wish is my command."

Ama (whispers, tears streaming): "Please… please don't hurt them…"Killer (soft, sinister whisper): "Oh, sweetheart… I already did."

The call ended.

Ama stood frozen, her breath shallow. Then she lost it completely. "Atlas, everything is over. He's going to kill my dad. My mom. Just like he killed Jade and Kayol!" she sobbed uncontrollably.

"No, Ama! Don't think like that!" Atlas, despite his own terror, forced himself to stay calm. "We need to inform someone close to your parents—someone who can reach them in time."

Ama barely registered his words before dialing Mr. Han, her parents' manager. He picked up almost instantly.

"Hello, Ama," he greeted warmly. "How are you?"

"Where are Mom and Dad?" she asked, her voice frail.

Mr. Han sounded confused. "Didn't they reach home yet? They left this morning. Their flight should have landed two hours ago."

Ama didn't wait for another second. She bolted out of the room, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Atlas ran beside her, his heart pounding.

As they reached her house, a cold sweat broke out over Ama's skin. The front door was wide open.

Her heart thundered against her ribs. Her legs trembled. Her breath hitched as she struggled to inhale. Tears clouded her vision. Her bloodshot eyes darted around wildly.

"Mom! Dad! Where are you?" she screamed, stepping inside.

The house was eerily silent. Too silent. The only sound was the soft whisper of the wind creeping through the open door.

Atlas spotted something on the floor—a dark red smear leading toward the kitchen. His breath caught. It looked as if something—no, someone—had been dragged.

Ama followed his gaze and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Atlas hushed her quickly, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. He followed the bloodstains cautiously, his body tense, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Ama clutched her chest, gasping for air, but she couldn't move. She couldn't bring herself to follow. Her body refused.

Atlas stepped into the kitchen. His breath hitched. His pulse stilled.

The kitchen was a nightmare frozen in time, a grotesque canvas of horror. The faint yellow light flickered, casting unsettling shadows that danced on the crimson-streaked walls. The air was thick with the sickening stench of blood, a raw, metallic scent that clung to the back of Atlas's throat, making him want to gag. The sink, a once-ordinary fixture, was now an abyss overflowing with deep red, the murky water circling and sloshing as if something unseen stirred beneath its surface.

Atlas felt a wave of nausea crash over him. The ceaseless dripping of the faucet echoed like a slow, taunting metronome, each drop rippling across the pool of blood in the basin. The sound of water gushing over the edges and splattering onto the tiled floor made his stomach turn. It wasn't just water anymore—it was thick, staining everything it touched.

The floor was slick beneath his feet, forcing him to take careful, deliberate steps. The blood had seeped into the cracks of the tiles, forming twisted, broken patterns like shattered glass. His breath came out in short gasps, each inhalation pulling in the damp, coppery air that made his head swim.

Atlas turned his gaze back to the sink. The water, tainted with red, swirled sluggishly around the thing that bobbed in its depths. His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Then, as if time slowed, the object turned, revealing a face.

A head. 

The eyes, wide open, clouded, yet hauntingly expressive, stared straight at him. The mouth was slightly ajar, frozen in a silent scream, as if even in death, the victim had been aware of their gruesome fate. The soaked hair floated in dark tendrils around the severed head, a grotesque halo in the swirling abyss.

Atlas's entire body went rigid. The room spun around him, a whirlwind of horror he couldn't escape. He staggered backward, his heartbeat a violent drum against his ribs. His legs felt unsteady, threatening to give way beneath him. He clutched the counter for support, his fingers slipping on the slick surface. The contrast of warmth and wetness made his skin crawl.

A guttural gasp tore from his throat. He wanted to scream, to tear his eyes away, but he couldn't. The lifeless stare of the floating head had him ensnared, paralyzing him with fear. His vision blurred at the edges as dizziness threatened to consume him, but the horrifying sight held him in its grip, refusing to let go.

Behind him, Ama's strangled sobs filled the suffocating silence. "No... no... this isn't real," she whimpered, rocking slightly, her hands tangled in her hair as if trying to block out the nightmare in front of her. Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper, but the agony in it was deafening.

Atlas clenched his jaw, his own panic clawing at his throat. The rational part of him screamed to move, to do something—but his body refused to listen. The rush of blood in his ears, the sickening gurgle of water spilling over, and the distant, eerie creak of the wind through the open doorway swallowed every other sound.

Then, something shifted. A whispering ripple in the water, a barely-there movement beneath the floating head. Atlas swore his mind was playing tricks on him, but in that moment, he could have sworn the lips of the severed head curled... into a faint, knowing smile.

Atlas lurched back, a strangled noise escaping his throat. His chest heaved as a fresh wave of dread surged through him, rattling his very core. His pulse pounded in his skull, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run. But where? There was no escaping the horror. No outrunning the truth. 

His vision darkened at the edges, the air in his lungs suddenly too thick, too heavy. He barely registered Ama gripping his arm, shaking him desperately. "Atlas! Please! What do we do?!"

But Atlas couldn't answer. Because the head, that grotesque, haunting head, was still watching him. And no matter how much he wished otherwise… it felt like it was waiting for something.

Behind him, Ama's sobs tore through the thick, oppressive air. She clutched her head, her entire body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. Her cries were muffled, her breaths uneven, hiccupping between each choked-out sob. "No, no, no... this can't be happening... this can't be happening..."

Atlas turned his head slightly, trying to ground himself in her presence, but the weight of dread pressed heavily on his chest. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out even the sound of the water, which continued to gush from the faucet, mingling with the thick blood in the sink.

He reached out, his fingers ice-cold, attempting to touch Ama's shoulder, but she flinched, her eyes wild, not even recognizing him in that moment. The realization struck him like a punch to the gut—this wasn't just about what they were seeing. It was about everything. The calls. The warnings. The way Ama had been chased. She wasn't lying. She wasn't overthinking. She was being hunted. And now, they were standing in the aftermath of something truly monstrous.

Atlas took a shaky step back, his legs numb. The sound of the water running, the thick scent of blood, the deathly stillness of the house—it all pressed down on him like an unbearable weight. "Ama... we need to go," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "Now."

But Ama wasn't listening. She was staring at the sink, at the floating head of someone she might have known, her face frozen in an expression of terror beyond words. And for the first time, Atlas realized—he was just as trapped in this nightmare as she was.

** Question to Readers:** What do you think is happening? Could Mark truly be behind all of this, or is there something more sinister lurking in the shadows? Drop your theories in the comments, and don't forget to vote and add to your library! , whose head it could be , do you suspect mark just like ama and author do , is atlas really that what he is showing , who is the killer? , is ama 's parents alive ?. what would be her next step .