Baraam pushed open the door. It was too quiet for a household of seven.

“Siami?” The man who spoke was slender, with a face that most agreed was cruel. He looked wary now. Siami belonged to him, and while he wasn’t afraid of letting a slap remind his girls who was boss, Siami had never given him any trouble. The blind usually didn’t.

The scene that opened before him as he turned the corner, shook him to the core. Blood splatters covered all the walls, running in criss-crossing rivulets that combined and divided; a dark net from ceiling to floor.

In the middle Siami sat, her six children arrayed around her. Their limp forms sprawled in a shared pool of their own blood. Each one had a narrow wedge cut out of their neck. None, not even the newborn had been spared.

Flies buzzed.

Baraam watched as the blind woman worked. Naked, she used two fingers to paint strange characters over the text of a book. She turned the page carefully and without expression, dipped her fingers in blood, and continued painting.