The Crimson Mask

Mornings were always a hectic flap for Rachel, preparing herself for another day in the City, and more so seeing to the needs of Steven, her fifteen year old son, who was presently sat on the sofa wearing only his boxers and a faded T-shirt, playing Call Of Duty.
Rachel was multi-tasking big style as usual stirring coffee, pouring milk on Steve’s cereal and taking small crunchy nibbles from her slice of toast, as she attempted to maintain and keep to her schedule.
The sound of the Eight o’clock pips coincided with the crunch of glass that came from under her new, slightly tight and uncomfortable shoes.
Startled, she dropped her triangle of toast, it seemed to bounce in slow motion before settling butter side down on the trendy cushion floor.
“Aaaaarrrghhhh.” She screamed, as she flinched with shock. “STEVEN! STEVEN! Get in here and clean this mess up. NOW!”
What’s she harping on about now-“comming comming, keep your hair on.”
Steven fired one last burst of rounds, then tossed the control pad to one side before springing up. He sidestepped the Coffee Table, done a long stride over the Poof and made his way to the Kitchen, where his Mom waited with the Brush-pan at the ready.
The sight of his broken and shattered Vivarium stopped him in his tracks.
“OMG! What-how did you manage to break that?”
“I didn’t break anything! I just want you to clean it up before someone cuts themselves.”
Steven took the dustpan and brush from his Mom, and with a huff he started to sweep up the broken glass. He stopped, bent down, and between his thumb and finger he picked up an empty chrysalis case. After staring at it in disbelief, he held it out towards his Mom.
“They’ve hatched, MOM they’ve hatched!”
“What’s hatched?”
The Kitchen’s bright studio light flickered, both Mother and Son looked up.
“Those!” Declared Steven, pointing nervously with the short-handled brush.
Around the light swarmed at least one hundred crimson red moths, each one the size of a one pound coin. Not once did they collide with each other as they bounced around the bright LED light.
Rachel swallowed hard, then shrank back until she met the black granite work surface, where she stopped and used her splayed arms and hands to steady herself. Steven however stepped forward a pace, and extended his arm that carried the brush towards the now obviously annoyed Moths.
Rachel screamed long and loud as the Moths, as if remote-controlled or reacting to a command launched themselves at Steven’s head. In the blink of an eye, the swarm had covered his face with their flapping, crawling crimson bodies.
He coughed and choked as he crumbled to the floor, his attempts to remove his assailants grew weak and feeble from suffocation. The last two things he saw before his life was extinguished were Rachel’s shoes and a half eaten triangle of toast.
Rachel shrieked as she looked down at her now lifeless Son, and realised it was her turn to wear the crimson mask. “Nooooooo!”