Excerpt from Homesick for Another World by Ottessa Moshfegh, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

In the morning, I put the jar of poison jam in my satchel. I act like everything is normal.

"Good morning, Waldemar," I say. I try to pretend I am normal, but Waldemar knows that I am not.

"What is it? What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing, just that I'm going to kill Jarek Jaskolka today and go back to the other place. Sorry you can't come with me." I try to sound cheerful, like I don't know that Waldemar's heart is broken. He can see right through me. He has that ability, as my brother.

"I don't like this idea, Urszula. I think Jarek Jaskolka won't eat the jam. I think he'll hurt you instead. You'll get those marks like Mother, and turn into an angry woman just like her."

"But I'm angry already," I say. "Marks or no marks, it makes no difference. I need to get out of here. And if I go through the hole and arrive back to the other place, whatever that is, what will I care if my legs are full of worms?"

"Worms?"

"Worms."

My thoughts go suddenly to the cemetery, the rich black dirt that was dug up to make room for our father to be buried in. I wonder, once I go through the hole back to the place, will my body be left behind? Later, will Waldemar stand in the cemetery and watch the dirt get dug up for me to be buried in? Will worms want to eat my flesh? Will they chew my flesh and spit out mud, which the teacher says is good for planting things? I can't discuss this with Waldemar now. It would upset him too much to answer such questions. We get dressed for school and go to the kitchen for breakfast. The woman is slicing an onion, crying. I can't look at her. I am worried she can tell I've used the stove the night before. The air, I worry, still smells like poison jam.

"You look tired, Urszula," she says. "You look sick. Maybe you should stay home today. Maybe you're getting Waldemar's cough."

"Yes," Waldemar says. "You should stay home. Don't go anywhere. Just stay in bed and read a book. I'll bring your schoolwork home for you. Don't go doing anything crazy."

"You sound just like the woman," I say to Waldemar.

"Call me Mother," the woman says.

The woman gives us our bread and yogurt, Waldemar's onion cooked in honey, and one for me, too.

"Thank you, Mother," Waldemar says.

I roll my eyes.

We eat in silence, Waldemar sniffling and clearing his throat. I keep my eyes on the worn wooden floor. "Good-bye, stupid floor," I say to myself. "Good-bye, ugly, stupid, old wood floor." But what do I care about that floor? A house can be full of life one day, then torn down into rubble the next. Tramways can be laid out. Millions of silly people can walk across a bit of Earth and never know what was once built on that place. We don't even know who's buried beneath our feet. So many people have come and gone, and where are they now? I think of the better place. "Jarek Jaskolka," I say to myself, but not out loud. I don't want Waldemar or the woman to hear me. I don't want any more trouble. I feel that I am ready to leave them both behind.

My satchel is heavy now, the jar of poison jam and butcher knife sagging down under my schoolbooks. Waldemar offers to carry my satchel for me.

"You look tired," he says. "Why not let me take that off your back?"

"Oh, you think you can solve things? You're just a little boy. You might have more muscles than me, but you're only a day older. You think you're smarter than me for that? You think you have all the answers, do you?"

Waldemar doesn't say anything. I am very excited with the thought that very soon, I'll be gone. I'm finally going home, I think to myself. I try to hate Waldemar, but I can't. I try not to think about how much I really love him. It is hard to do.

We continue on our way up the road. I am breathing like a crazy person breathes. My heart is beating like a crazy person's heart beats. "Don't do anything crazy," Waldemar had warned me. What is crazy about what I'm doing? What does "crazy" even mean? There is one person everyone calls "crazy." She is an old lady who lives between the cans of garbage behind the market. She covers herself in cabbage leaves and fronds from carrot tops and old wax paper smeared with animal fat, and she talks to herself and smokes the dirty tips of cigarettes men toss to her where she lies during the day, basking in the sunshine, underneath the monument to the martyrs in the town square. But even she doesn't seem so crazy. She is probably just sad, like me, and from another place entirely. She seems to be making the most of her time on Earth, though, doing as she pleases. She doesn't work or have a crying baby to tend to. Nobody is going to get near her. Nobody is going to make her black and blue and bloody. She smells like so many toilets. But she does as she pleases. She is a grown woman. If I can't kill Jarek Jaskolka, I think to myself, I'll be like that crazy lady and cover myself in garbage.

Excerpted from Homesick for Another World by Ottessa Moshfegh. Copyright © 2017 by Ottessa Moshfegh. Excerpted by permission of Penguin Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.