The doorknob rattled. A muffled swear, then the jangle of keys, filtered through the door. The sound of a key entering the lock, then a loud click as the lock is disengaged, echoed across the small, dark room.

The door opened to reveal a man dressed in overalls, his torso braced by a tool belt packed with various gadgets, and a hard hat covering his head. The man stepped into the interior and coughed at the dusty, stale air. He quickly closed the door behind him, leaving him in complete darkness.

“Lights…” The man pulled a flashlight from his belt and turned it on with an audible click, deftly swinging the beam of light across the room’s interior. Locating a switch, the man flicked it.

Tidy. That’s how I remembered it. It wasn’t what I was expecting. You hear about this kind of repo, you think - hoarder, basement dweller. Untidy types. This was too clean. This wasn’t your usual repo.

The sheets were dusty, but otherwise immaculate. The shelves were carefully organized, but haven’t been opened in a long time. Clothes, sorted by color and type, hung in coat hangers, also with a layer of dust. A short dusty table stood in the middle, devoid of decoration - the man placed his clipboard on it. On a corner stood a study desk, also coated with dust. A laptop sat on top of it. The man traced a finger on it - it didn’t collect as much dust as the rest of the room did.

Just alongside it is the main feature of the repossession - a wooden chest, reinforced with straps of metal, in flawless condition. Compared to the modern modular furniture in the room, the chest was an anachronism - perhaps the owner’s attempt at giving character to the room. The chest, much like the laptop, did not collect as much dust.

Taking out his phone, he started taking photos of the room. The imitation shutter sound snapped and softly echoed on the walls. After a dozen or so pictures, the man stopped and swiped at his phone’s display, looking at the photos.

Hello.

The man started and turned about. He was alone. Shaking his head and muttering to himself, he picks up his clipboard and flips through the papers attached to it.

Hello there.

Gingerly laying down his clipboard, he carefully looked around the room, looking for the source of the voice. The closet, still open, was empty; the adjoining bathroom, also covered in dust, was deserted.

Hi. I’m in the chest. Even with its casual way of speaking, the disembodied feminine voice sent chills up his spine. He looked at the chest sitting in the corner in trepidation, then took a couple tentative steps.

Or, I should say...I’m the chest.

The man froze in his tracks.

The chest partially opened, revealing a pale, thin girl dressed in a faded black shirt. The girl leaned onto the front of the chest and settled on her position perfectly still, staring at the man.

“H-hi.” The man let out an audible gulp, frozen in his place.

An amused look flashed on the girl’s face. “Hello again. Have you never seen a Mimic before?”

The man only shook his head, his expression wavering between awe and terror. His gaze wandered around the room, avoiding the girl’s stare.

A short pause filled the room with a tense silence, filled only by the ticking of the man’s wristwatch.

The girl in the chest broke the silence. “I understand you’re frightened. You should be. Mimics eat humans for sustenance, after all.” She looked at the man with a curious look on her face.

The man gulped and looked up and down the chest, still frozen. “...Eat?”

“Yes, eat. Although we can eat most things...so I don’t have to eat you if you have some snacks on you." The girl spoke in a light, almost casual tone.

The clipboard the man was holding dropped to the ground, his hands having lost all grip. His expression suddenly hardened, and he leveled his gaze at the girl staring up at him. He took a deep breath and spoke in slow and steady tone.

“Please, eat me.”