Home Sweet Home

Greg drags his sultry wife Morgan into their new pad, cluttered with unpacked boxes in the dim living room. Her eyes light up, and she crashes her lips against his in a hungry kiss. But when he rummages through the bare kitchen cabinets, growling about the emptiness, he peels out to scrounge for chow, leaving her alone in the shadows. Cruising the dark road, Greg spots a ragged pair thumbing for a ride—a lanky kid and a wide-eyed girl. Gut twisting with doubt, he slams the brakes and probes if they've scarfed anything today. Starving confessions spill out, so he jerks his head for them to pile in. They murmur thanks, spilling names: Wes and his sister Carrie. Back at the house, Morgan's face sours at the intruders crashing their turf. Over a strained meal thick with suspicion, she snaps, demanding what hell they're fleeing. They clam up, insisting blood ties bind them. Greg, the soft touch, offers them a crash pad for the night. They slink off to a bedroom, grinning like foxes. Morgan explodes at Greg—this was their private blaze, not some charity flop. He bolts into the night, ignoring her pleas not to ditch her with these shady fucks. Alone now, Wes and Carrie scheme in the gloom, their sibling yarn unraveling as forbidden hunger ignites, ready to devour the empty house in raw, twisted ecstasy.