Trapped

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

“Won’t you let me in?”

Milo looked over the words scratched into the wall, reminding himself of what he already knew. It was a simple rule that had saved him countless times thus far, but his self-control was cracking. He padded over to the door, crouching to the floor to peak underneath. Bare toes coated in dirt and debris wriggled with impatience. Was a woman really standing on the other side? His hand trembled at the thought of slipping a finger under the crack to give one of the toes a poke. Just a small touch couldn’t hurt. Plus, he would be safe behind the door if anything should happen, right?

Maybe.

He wasn’t sure anymore, but his loneliness was eating at him. Eager for some company after several months of solitude. Survival didn’t feel like living if it meant doing it by himself. His eyes flickered to the tallies building on the far wall. Nearly one year. The more he thought of his time alone, the greater his desperation gnawed at him.

“C-c-could you s-step closer?”

If the woman could not bend at the waist, then she couldn’t grab him when he reached under the door. This seemed a logical solution to Milo’s dilemma. He watched as the set of toes crinkled and flexed, a nauseating sight that curled his insides. A slight shuffle lurched Milo’s heart into his throat. The woman bent down at the knees and crawled closer. Blackened crust under her long brown and yellow nails scratched across the old floor boards.

Creak. Scratch. Creak. Scratch.

“Please let me in.”

Against his better judgement Milo reached for the handle.

If he died, he wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.