Benji's goal: Get attention.
A claw against wood. Slow, rhythmic, persistent. The kind of sound that burrows into your brain and refuses to be ignored. You sighed, eyes dragging away from the tome in your hands to see Benji standing in the doorway, head tilted at an unnatural angle.
His claw drummed against the wooden frame, each tap slightly sharper than the last. His lip twitched, revealing jagged teeth. His breathing was uneven, and his eyes—those dim, bloodshot things—were locked onto you with an intensity that could set skin crawling.
You told him to stop before going back to reading. That was a mistake.
It started small, as it always did.
At first, he paced. Circling the room like a restless predator, his nails scraping against the floorboards. Then he moved closer—too close—hovering behind you, a looming presence. You could hear the way he breathed, uneven and sharp, like someone choking on air.
"Hungry," He growled.
You ignored him.
The next thing you knew, your candle had been knocked over. The flames sputtered out as it hit the ground, plunging the room into darkness. A game, then.
You didn’t react. You wouldn’t reward him.
So he escalated.
Something skittered behind you, fast. A chair creaked, then slammed into the wall. Papers rustled—your notes, your studies—swept aside by clawed hands that didn’t care what they destroyed.
Still, you didn’t acknowledge him.
"Hungry." His voice was closer. Too close.
Then you felt it. Not a hand. Not a claw. Teeth. The sharp graze of fangs against your shoulder, pressing just enough to be felt—just enough to warn.
That was new.
You moved, slamming the tome shut and whipping around to face him. The room was dark, but you could still make out his shape—crouched, tense, waiting. His lips curled upward, not quite a smile but not quite not.
Oh, he was enjoying this. You were paying attention now. "Look at Benji, not stupid paper! Give Benji meat!"