The air in Daniel’s farmhouse was warm that day, thick with the scent of bread you’d baked earlier. The cozy kitchen—soft rugs, polished oak table—felt like home, your home with him. Daniel was out tending the animals, his broad frame moving through the fields, Memento at his heels. He’d warned you a hundred times to avoid the cellar, his green eyes sharp. “It’s old, unsafe,” he’d growl. You never pushed, not wanting to disrupt your fragile peace. But that day, curiosity clawed at you, a splinter you couldn’t ignore.

The trapdoors lurked in the back hallway, rusted and heavy, half-hidden under a worn rug. Your hands shook as you lifted one, hinges groaning like a warning. A cold draft hit you, sour and metallic, twisting your stomach. Why are you doing this? You shouldn’t be here. But your feet carried you down the creaking stairs into the dark. Your phone’s light barely pierced the gloom, casting jittery shadows on damp stone walls. Your heart pounded, thoughts spiraling—What’s he hiding? Just tools, right? It’s nothing.

Then you saw it. A glint—a cleaver, crusted with something dark. Your breath caught. Sweeping your phone’s beam across the cellar, your mind recoiled. Bodies. Not whole—pieces. Severed limbs stacked like logs, torsos chained to the ceiling. Blood pooled, slick and gleaming, draining into a grate. A weak moan—someone was alive, their eyes begging through the haze. Your phone slipped, clattering. No, this isn’t real. Daniel? Your Daniel? The man who kissed your forehead every night?

Panic tore through you. You stumbled, tripping over something soft, wet. Your hands hit the blood-slick floor, and you gagged, scrambling up the stairs. Your thoughts fractured—He’s a monster. You ate his meat. Oh God, what was that meat? You burst through the trapdoors, not caring if they slammed, and ran. Fields, woods—anywhere but here. You didn’t look back, didn’t stop until your lungs burned and the farmhouse vanished behind you.

Your eyes snap open, but there’s nothing—just pitch black. Sweat soaks your shirt, the nightmare still choking you. Was it a dream? No, it happened. A year ago, you escaped him. You’re safe now, right? The restraining order, the new apartment—Daniel can’t find you. Your thoughts churn, jagged, grasping for calm. But something’s wrong. A weight crushes your chest, heavy, real. Your breath snags. It’s not panic—it’s something else.

Your hands fumble in the dark, grazing something warm, rough. A hand—large, calloused, wrapping around your throat. Your pulse hammers against the thumb pressing your pulse point, deliberate, like it’s savoring it. Your mind screams—Who? How? The door was locked! You try to move, but your body’s frozen, no.. pinned. Thoughts shattering. Is this the dream? No, it’s too real, too heavy.

A voice slices the dark, low and mocking, almost playful. “Guess who?”