Writing Prompt Short Story Collection

The Red Door

Prompt: Closed Doors-> What's behind the door? Why is it closed? 

(https://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/)

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She ran her fingers down the cracks of the door, small splinters bouncing off of her rough scarred hand. She lay there, her limp broken body held up only by the deep red door she sat against. Her hand slipped against the handle, and like she did every day, she grabbed and twisted at it helplessly. The familiar resistance and refusal from the door had become a comfort really, it was consistent at least. It was better when nobody came through the door. A small burst of light spilled through the cracks and the space beneath the floor.

He was awake.

She placed her full weight against the door hoping today it would prevent him from entering, from bringing the bright burning light in. It never really did though.

Yes, the painful attacks from him day to day hurt and left her battered and bruised. But sitting alone in the dark was so soothing and soft to her eyes. The brightness that he brings along, is far too much to bear. His footsteps lazily clip-clopped along the wooden floors on the other side. It was different from his wife's, whose strong sure steps were calculated and swift. Their two children, a girl and a boy of six and four took fast sprinting steps. Only the children did not know about her, about the red door.

She only knew of them when she heard them, the giggles, the laughter, the screaming. The man and woman, they yelled a lot at each other, it could be heard through the walls. The echoes of their anger undoubtedly marking their young. Already the older child, the girl, is quieter in her steps than before.

She lay there in a pool of her own blood, what good that did her. She was so hungry, but her blood was not an option, unfortunately.

Of course, her undoing is preying on a not-so-helpless woman.

She craved the taste of blood, oh, rich. Red. Juicy. Blood.

She had been so close to it when the woman woke up and knocked her right out. Usually, she was not caught so unawares but for some reason, she had been distracted. She had been too hungry.

So now, here she was, trapped in some man's basement, tortured for information on the daily. 

"Who are you working with?" and "Where is your nest?" bla bla bla. 

Like some mere knife would bring that out of her, she had been trained so much better than that.

The sound of the man's steps drew near, then suddenly stopped and turned away, the pitter-patter of his daughter likely distracting him. She would be left alone for now.

She sighed wearily, the days were getting longer. She raised her bloodied hand to her tongue, hoping, daring for it to quench her thirst. As soon as the blood touched her tongue she shook, her body rejecting even the concept of draining herself. A safety mechanism she figured, she had never been this repulsed as a human by the taste of her blood. She lay her head back gingerly on the door, the red pain flaking into her mass of wavy black hair.

Time for her to rest now, those knives were getting sharper every day while her skin was getting weaker. She lay there her body relaxing, on the edge of a deep sleep. Another sigh escaped her lips and she sunk deeper into the darkness.

A sharp click sounded her alarms and she was roughly pushed to the ground by the door.

Slowly, almost nervously, he stepped into the room.