Prologue: Hereditary
“You know, for as long as I can remember, your actions—your selfish, reckless decisions—have kept me and my mother trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Every day, every moment, we’ve had to live with the consequences of what you’ve done. The constant fear, the threats, the lies—we’re drowning in them because of you.
I’ve tried everything to fix this mess, to find a way out of this hell you created. But the more I tried, the more I realized that the real problem isn’t the situation—it’s you. So, if getting rid of the problem means getting rid of you, then so be it.”
The boy steadies the shotgun, his hands trembling as he aims it directly at the man in the doorway. The man, unflinching, meets his gaze with a cold, calculating stare.
“Oh, you really think that killing your own father will fix everything?” The man’s voice is a chilling mixture of contempt and dark amusement. “Let me remind you, boy—no matter what you do, even if you pull that trigger, I’ll never truly leave you. I’ll haunt your dreams, your every waking moment. You carry my blood in your veins, and there’s nothing you can do to escape that.
Put the gun down. If you take me out, my men will come for you. And don’t fool yourself into thinking your connection to me will spare you. They’ll make sure you suffer in ways you can’t even imagine.”
“If I truly am your son,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’ll survive whatever you throw at me. I’m going to kill you just like you killed Grandpa.”
The man’s face contorts with anger and fear. “WATCH YOUR MOUTH, BOY! I—I didn’t kill your grandfather. It was an accident! If he hadn’t been so insistent, so far up my ass, none of this would have happened. You have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Go away, scoundrel!” The boy’s voice is steady, but his eyes blaze with a mixture of hatred and desperation. “We don’t need you—neither me nor Mom.”
The man’s eyes narrow, his expression darkening. “A scoundrel, huh? You think that’s all I am? Well, mark my words—I’ll be back. And when I return, it’ll be far uglier than you can imagine.”
With a final, contemptuous glare, the man turns away and strides towards his truck. The engine roars to life, and he speeds away, leaving the boy standing alone in the doorway. The boy’s grip on the shotgun tightens, knuckles white with anger and fear, as he watches the taillights of the truck fade into the distance.
