Toothy Maw

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

A rule may only serve as a conditional defense, strong only as the willpower of those who abide by it. To give them credit, they have lasted four cycles. Sun, moon, sun, moon… my blood sizzled with each passing of that accursed sun, and my hunger waltzed to the tune of their heartbeats during the night.

My being itches under the entrapment of the witch's wards carved on the inside of the cupboard door, still unbroken. I remember that smug lift of her chin before she disappeared into thin air, leaving me frozen in place “forever”.

I can outlast forever.

______

Edmund’s fingers twitch as he eagerly snatches the key from the hook.

Do not open, the sign on the door says. A padlock traps the latch shut.

His heart thuds unevenly, nervously. Jane told him nearly every day since they arrived, “Don’t open the door - it’s not our business”.

Chances are it is something mundane awaiting him, but to uncover the nasty secrets hidden by the AirBnB owner is too great of a calling.

He crams the misshapen key into the lock and forces it clockwise.

Click!

The sound of Jane’s car returning from the shops shoots adrenaline into his bloodstream. A wave of guilty panic washes over him as his hand hovers over the door knob.

… Just a peak.

The door opens. An icy chill steals the room, freezing the breath in Edmund’s chest as a shadow oozes from the cupboard, slithering, dancing.

His startled cry is cut short.

Edmund chokes on the blood running down his throat as a grinning, toothy maw tears at his neck.