The Nest

Jake crouched on the red tiles of the kitchen floor, examining a stray ant through his new magnifying legs. "Look," he said in a hushed voice. "It's got six legs!"

"That's right," his mother replied absent-mindedly, checking on the chicken inside the oven. Unsatisfied, she placed it back in and turned to the spaghetti.

Sighing in contentment, he leaned back against the wall and breathed in the deep, delicious aromas swirling around the room. It was warm and cozy, the perfect place to be during the frigid winter. Tail wagging, Kodak padded over to him, her lustrous, golden fur shining in the bright light. "Hi, girl," he murmured, stroking her.

She licked his face and then settled on the floor, resting her head in his lap. Giggling, he patted her head. Her long tail thumped against the floor, making him laugh harder. Jake's father called from the den, "Food, Kodak!"

Yawning, she stood up and lumbered away in a dignified manner, very different from a few years ago, when she would skid around the house, barking, at the slightest noise. Jake got to his feet as well and picked up his magnifying glass, studying the kitchen counter. "Would you grab me a can of spaghetti sauce?" his mother asked. "I don't think I'll have time to make my own before your grandmother gets here."

He glanced at her. "In...in the cellar?"

"Of course." She laughed lightly. "Where else would it be?"

"But there are monsters in there!"

"Don't be silly, Jake. There are no such things. You're a big boy now, aren't you? Six years old."

He put down the glass and hesitantly walked over to the cellar door. Slowly, he reached out and gripped the knob. As soon as he made contact with the ancient brass, his body felt like it was pierced with ice. Trembling, he opened it, bracing himself against the freezing cold wave that flowed through him.

Trying to take deep breaths, he took a tentative step onto the first stair. Pain like electricity shocked him, and he gasped. Jake could already tell that today was different. Whatever was in there was in a terrible mood, a hungry mood. He looked over his shoulder. Was it too late to go back inside? Maybe if he threw a tantrum...

The door swung shut with an ominous click, and his heart jumped. Jake turned around, sweat sliding down his cheeks, and tentatively reached forward for the door knob. His fingers were a hair's width from the rusty instrument, but suddenly stopped. Grunting, he tried to reach it, but couldn't and he knew he was trapped.

Jake's stomach clenched, and he slowly backed away from the door. Something shifted beneath his feet, but he couldn't scream, couldn't yell, could only whimper as he landed, hard, against the concrete floor. His head smashed into it with a nasty thud, and the darkness swam before his eyes. There was a searing light, and then all was black.