I could hear the faint sound of the old grandfather clock that sat in the study, the volume of it loud even in the basement. The basement, which had dark stone walls and sat well below the foundation of the house, had several leaks in its ceiling from where water would drip down onto the concrete I was sitting on. The dampness on the floor lent the basement a chill that made me shiver, my thin cotton nightgown doing nothing to insulate me.

My eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness of the basement, not that there was much to look at anyway. A single, naked lightbulb hung from a wire from the damp ceiling of the basement, the switch to which was outside. I could bang on the basement door and ask my mother to turn the light on, but given the less-than-ideal conditions the bulb was left in, I doubted whether it even worked anymore, and my father could always react to me making my presence known in an unsavoury way.

The basement was already an uncomfortable place to sleep in without a broken bone or two to amplify the discomfort.

It had only been an hour since I’d been down there, I believed, since I’d been awake the entire time and hadn’t heard the clock chime more than once. I could hear the faint scratching of claws from the other side of the stone walls- no doubt the sounds of rodents attempting to burrow through to the warmth inside the house.

I was sure my mother would come down in a few hours to feed me, once my father left for work. There wasn’t much I could do until then, so I wrapped my damp nightgown tighter, bringing my knees up to my chest and pressing my cheek to the tops of them. The darkness of the room and the relative silence were making my eyes droop shut despite the discomfort I was feeling from the cold, hard floor.

The loud chime of the grandfather clock awoke me- I squinted in the dark in a fruitless attempt to tell how much time had passed. It was not the second chime since I’d been down there—my eyes had been closed long enough to collect debris around them, and there was a bit of drool that was drying on the corner of my mouth.

I swallowed; my mouth was dry as a scorpion’s nest. I stood up from where I had been sedentary for so long, my bones popping and creaking as I limped around the basement. I walked up the basement stairs, trying my best not to create any noise. There was a thin stream of light pouring out from underneath the door, and I tried to peer through the gap. I couldn’t see much, but I could tell that the light I was seeing was sunlight.

My heart swelled as I realised morning had come, and my father would no doubt be leaving for work any moment, and my mother would finally get the opportunity to let me out for a bit. With a wide smile on my face, I slowly walked back down the stairs, sitting on the last stair so that my mother wouldn’t trip over me when she entered.

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough to study the basement a bit more. There were six spiderwebs in total- two in the corners of the ceiling, three on the old wooden beams, and one barely hanging off a pipe that rattled as water passed through it. The sound of scratching I’d heard the previous night from the other side of the wall had stopped now- maybe the animals had left the underground to warm themselves in the sunlight.

There was no sound outside of the drip-drip-drip of water leaking from the ceiling and hitting the concrete. In all of the days I have spent in the basement, I’m still not sure what the source of this water is- is it groundwater? Sewage? Wastewater coming from inside the house? My nose had been broken so many times that I couldn’t tell what it was if my life depended on it.

In the almost deafening silence of the basement, isolated from the sound inside the house by its thick stone walls and metal door, the sudden faint sound of ksh-ksh-ksh was impossible to miss. I opened my eyes, sat up and looked around the basement to identify the source of this noise—it was almost like the faint scratching I’d heard the previous night, except it was far too close for comfort.

I stood up, carefully stalking towards the noise. I blinked rapidly, trying to see if there was any movement in the dark void of the basement. Despite the sunlight outside, none of it managed to make its way inside the basement. The faint scratching stopped just as I got close to the corner where I’d heard it. I stood there silently, the sound of blood rushing in my ears loud enough that even if the sound started again, I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

Even though I couldn’t hear or see anything, a nagging feeling at the very bottom of my gut told me that I wasn’t alone. That was fine—my mother would probably let me out before the sound started up again. I walked backwards, sitting down at the bottom of the stairs.

I felt exhausted—my body wasn’t getting any nutrients to keep me awake, and the chill made my head hurt. I closed my eyes with a sigh, hoping that the next time I woke up, it would be to the sound of my mother’s voice and a plate of warm food.

My consciousness returned to me with the sound of shuffling, similar to the one I’d heard before, in the corner of the room. Except now, it was even closed than before. My eyes opened with Herculean effort, my throat and lips dry from the cold, dry air of the room. It took my eyes a minute or two to adjust to the darkness, even though I hadn’t seen light in what I was now sure had been several hours.

When my eyes did adjust, my entire vision was filled with grey fur, black beady eyes, and a long tail. My heart leapt into my throat as the rat began to squeak, as if it had noticed I was awake. With a jump and a screech that was incredibly painful for my dry throat to produce, I scuttled back across the stairs, my limbs clumsily dragging me up the stairs.

As I was panting, my back pressed against the door, I heard the stomping of feet across the living room floor, and the basement door was trembling all of a sudden with violent bangs on the other side.

“Shut up, brat!” I heard the threatening voice of my father growl, the violent bangs continuing for a moment longer before stopping. My heart, still beating loudly in my ears from seeing the rat, seemed to skip a beat at the sound of my father’s voice. For a moment, I felt scared that he would enter the basement and punish me for making noise, but then I heard him stomp back across the floor.

Curious, I peered down beneath the door, catching only a glimpse of his legs and of the sunlight that must be spilling through one of the windows. Confusion flooded my mind at the sight. My father usually left for work early in the morning and didn’t return until after the sun had already set, especially around this time of the year, when the sun set earlier than usual.

Maybe he is taking a day off, I tried to reassure myself, and my mother will find a way to sneak me food even in his presence. At the thought of food, my stomach twisted as if someone had ripped through my abdomen and was now squeezing my insides. I let out a wheeze as the hunger pangs wracked through my body. The intensity of the pain told me it had been at least 12 hours since I’d eaten, but the light I saw from underneath the basement door told me it wasn’t early morning any more—late afternoon, perhaps.

I couldn’t hear anything more from inside the house, which made the rat’s squeaks extremely apparent in the deafening silence of the basement, each breach of silence making my throat clench. I couldn’t bring myself to go back down the stairs, even though each step was incredibly narrow and the creaky wood barely accommodated my body, even though I was smaller than my peers. My heart palpitated even at the thought of being anywhere close to the rat, but I was too uncomfortable to rest where I was. I waited for the noise to fade at least a little before I crept back down, not moving any more than an inch once I’d settled at the bottom of the stairs.

I fell asleep like that, using my shoulder as a makeshift pillow.

The consequence of sleeping like that came back in kind, as my neck was incredibly sore when I raised my head. Somehow, I was still sitting up, as if the fear of getting closer to the vermin I was sharing this basement with paralysed me as though I had made the mistake of meeting the eyes of Medusa herself.

I heard scratching in one of the corners, similar to what I had heard the previous day. The anxiety I felt at first had now dimmed a bit, as I knew what the source of the noise was. That didn’t mean I wanted the rat any closer, of course, but if we were both trapped down here, then maybe it could have its corners and I could have mine. There wasn’t much I could do about it anyway.

I sighed, rubbing my arms vigorously to try and create heat via friction. The temperature in the basement seemed to have dropped a few degrees since I’d fallen asleep, or maybe it was just the lack of food. I tried to pull myself up and off the floor, but thought better of it.

There was nothing I could do, even if I got up off the floor, and it would cost too much energy that I couldn’t afford to waste. I rubbed a trembling hand over my face before deciding to lie back down and go to sleep, praying to a god I didn’t believe in that the next time I woke up, it would be to the warm scent of food.

My fingers were frozen when I woke back up, and I could barely move. I could see various shades of blue and indigo dance across the dark room, forcing me to blink several times to clear out my vision. I didn’t hear or see anything different from what I went to bed with, so the reason for waking up evaded me for a few moments, especially since I still felt incredibly sleepy.

I felt the urge to yawn, but my jaw muscles seemed to have locked up, so I just lay there uncomfortably for a few seconds as the urge passed. I closed my eyes, prepared to go back to sleep, and then I felt it.

A tickling feeling against my abdomen. I mustered just enough energy to look down the front of my nightgown and at my stomach. My heartbeat immediately picked up its pace, thumping loudly in the chamber of my ribs. There, against my stomach, snuggling up as if it were a docile housecat, was the rat. Seemingly cold, it was probably seeking warmth, and since I’d been still for so long, it thought I was safe to approach.

None of that was enough to keep me from being terrified, but I was too weak to do anything more than let out a whimper. The rat froze in its attempt to groom itself as if it had just noticed that I was a living, breathing person and not just a radiator, but it didn’t move or scurry away.

I tried to move, but I couldn’t do anything more than make my fingers twitch, which didn’t seem enough of a danger for it to give up the warmth of my body. I remained frozen like that for several moments, unable to calm down and unable to move, until my exhausted body eventually drifted into unconsciousness.

When I woke up again, I couldn’t make myself get up and check under the basement door to try and gauge how long it had been, but the rat was still there, curled up against my collarbone now. I shifted my head downwards with great struggle, trying to catch a better glimpse of it.

I squinted as I studied its fur, feeling relieved when I couldn’t see any fleas. Not that it would’ve mattered even if I had seen fleas, I didn’t have the strength to push it away, but the lack of vermin still made me feel more good-natured towards the rat.

“…cold?” I asked shakily, my voice sounding so faint to my ears that I wouldn’t have been able to tell if I’d said anything at all if it wasn’t for the faint vibration in my throat. The rat squeaked in response, snuggling closer to my jaw. I hummed in acknowledgement of its response, allowing my eyes to fall shut with the tiny ball of fur tucked under my chin.

The next time I woke up wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the earlier times, with a pang of hunger wracking through my body like a tsunami did a seashore, my entire body seizing and my muscles locking up as I found myself paralysed from the sheer agony. I let out a pathetic whimper, the sound chafing rough and raw against my dehydrated vocal cords.

The weak sound seemed to draw my furry friend’s attention, and he squeaked softly, removing himself from under my chin to place his tiny paws on my cheek, sniffing my face with his little wet nose, as if that would help him understand what was distressing me so much. I screwed my eyes shut as I waited for the wave of pain to pass, focusing on my friend’s little chirps and his tiny nose to try and work through the pain.

I was panting heavily by the time the hunger pang passed, and I used one of my hands to shakily scoop up my friend, tucking him back against my body. My eyes had teared up from the pain, and my muscles were trembling with exhaustion even though I hadn’t moved an inch. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep enduring this pain, but what else could I do?

I hope my father goes to work today. I found myself requesting whatever higher power existed in the universe, not even knowing how many days it had been or whether it was morning, afternoon, or night.

My flesh felt like it was falling off the bone, like each cell that made up my being was beginning to revolt against the organised order in which it existed, trying to rip out of my starving skin with the belief that they would have a better chance of survival without being held back by my personhood.

Bile rose in my oesophagus, and I could only try and swallow for so long before the acidic bitterness made its way into my mouth, and I retched violently to try and expel as much of the bile as I could, lest it slip back down my airway and I choke to death.

I don’t know when I lost consciousness again.

I opened my eyes to the dancing colours that were so bright and happy that they made me giggle. I raised my hands to try and touch the fuzzy colours and found my arms to be light as air, as opposed to the heaviness that was weighing them down before I went to sleep. I wasn’t even sure why they were heavy to begin with.

I got up off the soft floor I was lying on, looking around at my colourful surroundings with a wide grin. Suddenly, the smell of food wafted to my nose—something warm, delicious, and full of spice. My stomach immediately twisted in hunger, and saliva pooled in my dry mouth as I looked around wildly, looking for the source of the attractive scent.

There, about a foot away from me, right where I had just been lying, there was a delicious-looking glazed ham. With ravenous hunger, I grabbed the ham, sinking my teeth into it and ripping the meat apart viciously. With closed eyes, I chewed the delicious food.

Except—the ham didn’t seem cooked.

The ham was chewy and raw; there was a strange grainy texture to it, with multiple long fibres that stuck between my teeth. The ham didn’t seem particularly seasoned either- the taste of it was nothing like the enticing scent that made me oh-so ravenous. And the moment I ripped out a chunk of meat off the bone, my mouth was flooded with what tasted like blood.

That didn’t make sense. The ham didn’t look raw when I picked it up.

With a frown, I spat out the mouthful of meat and blood and opened my eyes to check the food.

When I opened my eyes, there were no more bright colours, no more delicious smell of food. The walls of the basement had returned to their previous state- dark, drab, and damp. The front of my white nightgown had blood soaked through it, and in my hands was the limp, lifeless body of my friend, a chunk of meat missing from his body with gnarled teeth indentations around the edges of the wound.

I raised a trembling hand to my mouth, sure that I was still dreaming and that this could not be real, but when I pulled out one of the fibres stuck between my teeth, it was long, black, and matched perfectly with my friend’s fur.

I let out a disbelieving whimper, tears immediately burning at the back of my eyes once I realised what I had done. I stared into the lifeless, beady eyes of my friend and found my own bloodied reflection staring back. I wanted to drop him—I didn’t want to see what I had done, but the horror of reality sank in quick and fast like a paralytic, leaving me in a state of frozen dread.

I let out a sob, intermingled with a pained scream.

Oh, oh, what have I done!

I sobbed into my friend’s corpse, allowing my tears to pour into his wounds as if that would bring him back, as if it would turn back time and keep me from becoming a murderer, from murdering my only friend.

The sobbing and screaming chafed at my throat. I felt like a ball with nails sticking out of it was being dragged up my gullet from the very depths of my soul until I couldn’t identify whether the pool of blood in my mouth, dripping out of it and onto my lap, was mine or my friend’s.

In the throes of my grief, I barely heard the door to the basement swing open. I only processed the sudden introduction of blinding light into my environment, startling me into ceasing my cries for just a moment. In the far corner of the basement, I was barely visible from the top of the stairs, where the person who had opened the basement door was.

“Your father has gone to work, sweetie. Come up quickly, I made you some hearty stew.”

.    .    .