My sister is actually my mother. Locked in our basement are over a dozen of my "fathers." Limbs broken, eyes gouged out, they pickle in large glass jars of liquor—the secret ingredient to my mother's eternal youth. Today, my mother brought home a new "father." I knew she was planning to brew a new batch. But this new father... seemed to be a woman. 1 "Chen, say hello to your brother." My mother clung to the arm of a strikingly handsome man, laughing like a schoolgirl. The man stared at me with a half-smile. There was something unsettlingly familiar in his eyes that made me freeze. Seeing my gaze linger on him, my mother kicked me hard in the stomach. "You little brat, already thinking about men?" "Keep staring and I'll gouge your eyes out!" I clutched my stomach in pain, falling to the floor. I watched as my mother fawned over him. Her low-cut dress brushed against his arm as she whispered, "Shawn, my little sister has a bad habit of eyeing my men. Don't let her seduce you." She wasn't lying about one thing. I was interested in every man she brought home, but not for the reasons she thought. The man dismissed me immediately. "I don't like scrawny bean sprouts." He slapped my mother on the rear. "I like women like you!" My mother giggled, looking even more radiant. It was impossible to tell she was pushing fifty. Her skin was porcelain white, her face retaining the baby fat of a twenty-year-old. In fact, as long as I could remember, she hadn't aged a day. If anything, she looked younger. "Dinner's ready, right? Go pour some wine," she ordered, glancing at the darkening sky. I pushed myself up from the floor and headed toward the basement. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her trace circles on his chest. "Shawn, I can hardly wait." He pulled her closer, whispering something that made her eyes glaze over with lust. Only I knew what she really couldn't wait for. Every man she seduced and brought home would taste her special "Handsome Man Wine." After a few rounds of drinking and intimacy to establish a "connection," they wouldn't live past sunrise. They would become the next batch. This wine was her fountain of youth. This was the eighteenth man. If this succeeded, she would be young forever. 2 The dark basement smelled of strong alcohol mixed with the stench of rotting flesh. Seventeen men were preserved in semi-transparent glass containers. The secret to the wine was simple: it only required the body. So, the men in the jars had been eviscerated, blinded, and their limbs broken to fit into the twisted glass shapes. Seeping blood dyed the liquor a dark crimson. Years of soaking had bloated their bodies, rendering their once-handsome faces unrecognizable. My mother's angry voice echoed from the entrance. "Little bitch, hurry up or I'll break your legs!" I quickly grabbed a pitcher, ladled out some wine, and hurried upstairs. For a second, I thought I saw one of the bodies in the jars twitch. But when I looked back, everything was still. After dinner, my mother swayed her hips into the bathroom. The sound of running water soon followed. I learned from her that this new man was named Shawn. I kept my head down, clearing the table. Shawn, already half-drunk, suddenly lunged at me from behind, wrapping his arms tight around me and inhaling deeply at my neck. "Little sister, you smell just as good as your big sister." I struggled, terrified but silent. If my mother heard, I'd get another beating. "Let go!" I hissed, my voice trembling. Shawn didn't care. His hand slid under my shirt, grazing the fresh wounds on my back. Pain shot through me, triggering an instinctual fight response. My body was a map of my mother's bad moods. When she was drunk, she used me as a punching bag. If I fought back, she'd throw me into the wine vats, letting the alcohol burn my open cuts. My wounds never really healed. I clawed at Shawn's clothes, ripping his jacket open in my panic, exposing his neck. He froze, shoving me away violently and frantically adjusting his collar. A suspicion flashed in my mind. I scrambled into my bedroom and slammed the door. My hands shook as I touched my own chest. Wait. He was different from the men in the basement. He... didn't seem to have an Adam's apple. I shook my head, recalling the soft sensation I felt when he pressed against my back. A realization hit me. He seemed to be a woman. 3 "Then why did she...?" I muttered to myself, cracking the door open. My mother had just come out of the bathroom, wearing a red silk nightgown, her damp hair loose over her shoulders. She straddled Shawn's lap, her back to me. Shawn closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "Darling, you smell amazing." He scooped my mother up and carried her into the bedroom, his gaze lingering on my door for a few seconds before kicking his own door shut. Just then, a chaotic whimpering noise came from the basement, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Crap. If a jar broke and the wine spilled, my mother would kill me. I didn't think twice before rushing down to the basement. But when I got there, I froze. The seventeen jars that had been lined up on the floor were gone. Panic set in. The entrance to the basement was narrow, barely wide enough for one person. The jars were larger than a grown man. How could they all disappear in such a short time? As I stood there bewildered, the iron door at the top of the stairs slammed shut. Darkness swallowed me. A strange male voice echoed in my ears: "Chen, you can't escape." "You and your mother both deserve to die." Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I scrambled up the stairs and pounded on the iron door, but it was locked from the outside. The sinister voice grew closer, then stopped right next to me. Silence. Absolute silence. Then, from outside the door, came the muffled sounds of intimacy. It was my mother's voice. I paused. For over a decade, every time my mother brought a man home, I heard these sounds. I wouldn't mistake it. But... wasn't Shawn a woman? I leaned against the wall, my mind racing. After a long while, the sounds stopped. The iron door creaked open. I swallowed hard and stepped out. My mother's bedroom door was ajar. Through the crack, I saw the messy bed. Something was wrong. Usually, after the deed was done, my mother would kill the man and drag him to the basement. But today, it was strangely quiet. Did she fail? Impossible. She hadn't failed in years. Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through the house. "Ahhh!" I ran to her room. My mother sat naked on the bed, her pale skin mottled with red marks. But Shawn was gone. 4 "Where is he?" she screamed, eyes bulging. I huddled by the door, too scared to speak. She grabbed a vase and hurled it at me. It shattered against my forehead, warm blood trickling down. "Are you mute?!" The pain nearly knocked me out. I shook my head, trembling. My mother stood up like a madwoman, throwing on clothes. She picked up a shard of glass and slashed my face. "Useless thing!" Blood ran into my mouth, the metallic taste making me gag. Watching her frenzy, I didn't dare tell her the wine jars were gone. Her eyes darted around the room, then landed on the open basement door. She lunged for it, but I grabbed her leg. She kicked me away, storming down the stairs. "Come out! I know you're hiding down there!" I gulped, backing away in fear. But when she entered the basement, everything was normal. I followed her down and saw the jars lined up perfectly, exactly where they should be. Not a single one missing. Did I hallucinate? My mother tore the basement apart but found no sign of Shawn. I knew he wasn't there—I had been locked in the whole time. Suddenly, her face twisted in agony, and she collapsed to the floor. I rushed to help her, but she shoved me away. She plunged her head into one of the open wine vats, drinking greedily. "Thirsty... so thirsty." She clawed at her neck as she drank. Her fingernails tore her skin, drawing blood. She screamed as her skin began to sag visibly. The youthful fullness in her face vanished, replaced by wrinkles and age spots. At the same time, her stomach began to swell rapidly. It looked like she was suddenly... pregnant.
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