Morning breakfast

Later That Morning

The clink of utensils.

The soft bubbling of a kettle.

The subtle but ever-present scent of toast—just slightly burnt, because [Mother] insists "it adds flavor."

Sunlight slid lazily through the kitchen window, brushing the corners of the table like a golden cat curling up for a nap.

[Mother]

"Tobey, come for breakfast!"

[Tobey, sitting cross-legged on the floor, nose buried deep in a book labeled Advanced Cell Biology 1—which, let's be honest, shouldn't be in the hands of a five-year-old unless you're actively trying to summon a biotech apocalypse.]

"Yes."

[Mother, her voice now less gentle summer breeze and more *divine judgment bouncing off hallway walls]

"Fast. Everyone is waiting."

Reluctantly, Tobey closed the book—like he was parting with the secrets of the universe—and shuffled over to the dining table.

He sat down.

And immediately… the air shifted.

[Father, sipping from a steaming mug like the man who definitely knows something you don't]

"How was the book?"

[Tobey, blinking]

"You know?"

[Father, calmly]

"Yes indeed."

Tension.

Thicker than the syrup on the pancakes.

And just as sticky.

[Tobey]

"…Did you free the cat from the wardrobe? And… the shed stuff. Is that yours?"

[Father, sets cup down with an audible clink, because drama is hereditary]

"Yes, I freed Bella.

And no. The shed? It doesn't belong to me.

Technically, it doesn't belong to anyone in this house."

[Mother, smiling sweetly—but with eyes sharper than freshly whetted kitchen knives]

"Bella—" (clears throat) "You both have some explaining to do."

And like synchronized swimmers tossed into shark-infested waters—

[Tobey and Father, in shaky, harmonized voices]

"Yes, ma'am."

[Mother, with the tilt of her head that signaled incoming doom]

"So… what about Bella?

What did you do to her?"

[Father, hands raised like a man mid-police interrogation]

"Hey, don't look at me like that! I just freed her from Tobey's wardrobe."

[Tobey – internal monologue]

"What can I say… what can I say…"

[Mother]

"Young man, why did you do that?"

[Tobey]

"Umm… she was wandering around the house in the dark, so I figured—hey, maybe she needed company.

So I… yeeted her into the wardrobe.

With the other demon."

A moment of silence.

[Mother, blinked once.]

Then burst into laughter—deep, rich, and very much "this child is mine, unfortunately."

[Mother, wiping a tear]

"Oh, you little gremlin."

(still laughing)

"Fine. You want to lock up guests?

You're cleaning the house today."

[Tobey]

"Awwww, why me…"

He turned to Father, hoping for some mercy, some salvation—

Instead, Father responded with a smug grin that said, "You did this to yourself."

[Tobey]

"Why should I be the only one who suffers around here?"

Oh, he was plotting something.

You could feel it in the air.

Like a villain monologue simmering just behind his innocent expression.

[Tobey, eyes narrowing]

"Dad, where did you learn to throw pens like—like throwing knives?"

[Mother, sipping tea without missing a beat]

"Pen?"

[Tobey, with subtle trauma]

"To be precise… fountain pen."

[Mother, another sip, unbothered]

"That's new. I never thought about it before."

(turning slightly to [Father])

"Dear, I'd like to know—how exactly did you learn that?"

[Tobey – in his mind]

"She's not even surprised.

Does she know something I don't?

Is this… normal in our house?!"

[Mother, smiling sweetly]

"I know you're good with throwing knives."

Boom.

Mental explosion. Right between the eyes.

[Tobey – mentally collapsing]

"She knew?!

I thought he just liked darts!

You know—like a normal suburban dad?!"

[Mother]

"And you're good with guns too. How?"

Boom #2.

Tobey's unusual soul left his body and filed for early retirement.

[Tobey – mentally screaming]

"GUNS?!

What is this?!

A spy family?! A secret assassin agency?!"

[Mother, puppy dog eyes now activated, totally ignoring Tobey's meltdown]

"Tell me how, dear."

But Tobey wasn't done.

Oh no.

He had one card left.

[Tobey]

"By the way… he pinned me to the wall."

The temperature dropped.

The shadows stretched.

The aura… shifted.

[Mother, still wearing the smile of a well-mannered angel, now radiated demon energy like an overboiling kettle.]

[Mother, cutesy voice, eyes glowing red]

"…Honey. Do you have something to say?"

[Tobey – internal triumphant music begins to play]

"Mission completed."

[Father – visibly sweating]

"About that… he entered my room at night.

I thought it was an intruder."

Oh look, a lie.

Smooth. Fast.

Served warm, with just enough seasoning to pass as truth.

Ah yes, the Father of Lies.

No wonder Tobey's so gifted.

[Mother]

"Do I look like someone who would believe that?"

[Father, trying to recover, raising his mug like a defense shield]

"No, no… you are beautiful. As always."

[Mother]

"Aww, thank you."

(sweet pause)

"But I'm not dumb."

She sipped her tea.

And dropped the hammer.

[Mother]

"Your punishment is to cook dinner tonight."

[Father]

"…When was the last time I cooked?"

[Mother]

"When we were in Sector A."

[Tobey]

"Wait—you know how to cook?!

No. I'm not even surprised anymore.

And what is Sector A?!"

[Tobey, squinting, now suspicious]

"You both need to tell me about your past."

[Father, sipping calmly]

"…That's a story for another day."

[Narrator, deadpan]

And somewhere in the heavens, the gods laughed.

Because if you think this is just a family comedy…

You're not paying attention.