If she left the bathroom, she would probably die.

No, not die, she thought. Eaten, like my brother.

But she could not hide in the bathroom for much longer. If she did, she would die of starvation.

Maybe it’s hungrier than I am…

Only once since confining herself to the bathroom had she worked up the courage to unlock the door and peer out into the darkness. That was when she saw it — a grotesque and disjointed silhouette standing at the far end of the hallway, swaying as if in a drunken daze.

Its skin was pallid and gaunt, pulled tightly over limbs that were abnormally long and spindly. Emaciated, it was more skeletal than human, more dead than alive, with a hunger that could never be satiated or satisfied.

“Mom…?” she had called out.

The monster’s ragged breathing had ceased abruptly at the sound of her voice, and it craned its neck around, searching. When it found her, there was a moment of pause; the girl looked at the thing that had been her mother, and the thing stared back through glossy black eyes.

Dead eyes.

Suddenly it shrieked — a maddened, wounded wail that sent chills through the girl. The monster hurled itself towards the bathroom, clawing at the walls in a rabid frenzy to reach her. She only just managed to bolt the lock when there was a loud CRACK and the door shuddered violently.

Scurrying backwards, the girl climbed into the bathtub, peering over the basin’s edge in terror as the door continued to rattle and reverberate on its hinges.

Before long, however, the monster had abated and staggered off. The girl in the bathroom was forgotten as long as she remained quiet. But days were passing by — days without food or sustenance. She was growing weaker and weaker, withering away with only stagnant toilet water to sustain her.

Gradually, the dread that had once filled her whenever she considered opening that door again was nearly dissolved, replaced by thoughts of food and a of full fridge. Hunger had become her existence now — her obsession. When she was awake, she would recall trips to the grocery store, take-out pick-ups, and fast food deliveries. She would remember holiday feasts and festivities.

Even when asleep, she dreamt of food — of steaming dishes and savoury deserts. But regardless of how much she gorged in her dreams, she always awoke to an aching, hollow stomach.

The drive to survive, to acquire sustenance, was usurping her mind of reason and rational thought, until she found herself standing before the ominous door once again. And her hand, as though not entirely of her own free will, reached out and slowly slid back the bolt.

CLICK.

The door was unlocked.

She opened it carefully, inch by inch, and surveyed the dimly-lit basement hallway. Immediately, a rancid odour tinged with an unpleasant sweetness greeted her and she pinched her nose in response. She listened intently, hardly daring to breathe, for the shuffling of uneven footsteps. But the only sound to be heard was the thumping of her own heartbeat.

Maybe it’s gone… maybe it’s left me alone…

Opposite the bathroom on the far end of the hallway was the pantry, and halfway between was the only other room in the basement — her brother’s room, which was situated to her left.

I can’t go in there, she thought, already knowing what horrific scene the bedroom contained.

Murder.

Mutilation.

Instead, she focused her attention on the stairwell directly across from the bedroom. Her exit. Her escape.

This is it. You can do it. You can do it…

She stepped across the bathroom threshold, her insides writhing. Still grasping her nose and listening closely for the slightest movement, she continued on tiptoe. One step. Then another. Then another. Still no sign of the prowling monster.

There had been no windows in the bathroom, but there was light shining from the stairwell into the basement. She estimated that it was roughly mid-afternoon, but what day she did not know.

When she arrived at her brother’s bedroom, the door was slightly ajar. She waited and listened, and when she was satisfied that the room was vacant, she moved on. Another step. Then another.

Is it gone? she wondered, not daring to hope. Is it really gone?

She was about to ascend the first set of stairs when a low growl rumbled down the hallway. Gooseflesh crawled along her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms pricked up. A voice inside her mind screamed at her to retreat, to return to the safety of the bathroom, to hide behind its door forever and never again leave its security.

“Mother…” she gasped.

Ebony eyes glinted in the darkness of the pantry room, white pinholes of light reflecting in their unblinking glare.