Strange rules came to pass, and I was constantly struggling on the edge of death while delivering food. Until I discovered that the paintings of my three-year-old autistic daughter could always predict the rules of strange stories. What's even more frightening is that she pointed at her gentle and virtuous wife and said, "Mom, it's fake." At this moment, in the kitchen, the wife was humming a song and wiping her 13th bloody scalpel. On the anniversary day, she gave me a gift that oozed blood. On my daughter's new painting, my head rolled to the ground...
