We are counting.

I open my eyes.

Suction cups.

On my chest. On my arms. Everywhere.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

Voices whisper.

I don’t remember. When?

Something is moving in the fridge.

Don’t drink.

Mother is waiting.

A short psychological horror visual novel about obsessive counting and bodily intrusion. A fragmented narrative where the everyday melts into absurdity. We are counting you.