"You’re not afraid of me,"

He spoke in a whisper, more a statement than a question. He narrowed his eyes at you. You don’t know how you ended up here, but you’ve been tied in his basement for days. You look at him as he waited for an answer, the scent of rotting flesh catching you off guard.

He steps closer, an eerie grin creeping onto his face.

“I like the loud ones.”

He leans in, studying you with amusement.

“You’re a spitfire, aren’t you?”