Anne believed that something lived under her porch. In reality, it was just a loose board.
The real danger lurked above.
Grimroth was fairly weak, as monsters go. He could still tear a human limb-from-limb, but he couldn’t swallow one whole.
He’d made a nest in Anne’s house, mostly because there wasn’t an abundance of clutter in the attic. Probably soon, in the next day or two, he would feel comfortable enough to slink down the ladder into the home and take a bite of her.
That was the plan, anyway, until the night he spent watching Anne through a narrow gap in the ceiling.
She was cute, in a human sort of way.
As Grimroth saw her go about her business, she began to seem less like a snack, and more like somebody he’d like to get to know better.
Even when his tummy got rumbly, Grimroth resisted the urge to murder. He thought that maybe he could make a friend, even though he didn’t know what a friend was.
He ignored his instincts for almost a week. It was a struggle against his very nature.
Finally, he couldn’t hold out any longer.
At 7:04 pm, as she watched her favorite show, he crept up behind her and he devoured her.
He felt sort of bad about it, after, though.