A humble house among the tall pine trees.

Although it stands above the other homes in the area, at two stories high, it is a modest Georgian Revival style with a grey exterior.

All the homes on that street were built in the early 80’s, but our house was noticeably the cleanest by far; my mother was adamant on hiring groundskeepers to ensure our home never fell to the same rusty exterior as our neighbours.

But we lived in a city where it would rain seventy percent of the time, so the fantasy of keeping a clean home was just that.

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A fantasy.

Much like our neighbours, we’d have dinner at six in the afternoon. By then I’d be back from university, father from the firm, mom would from her studio in time to make dinner, and my sister would be back from her after school volleyball practice.

And much like our neighbours, we were quiet and normal. A family of four: kind and well respected.

What differed from our neighbours was what we ate for our six past morning dinner.

To be blunt, my family would eat humans.

Cannibalism.

There’s a local butcher by the pier on the west side of town who gives us each day our daily meat.

My father and him go way back...