Stacy had always known something was wrong with her house. Mom and Dad didn't believe her retellings of noises in the dark, laughter from downstairs, revolting squelches and crunches that could only have come from something once living. They accused her of breaking her own toys even as she swore she didn't; as she stood and quietly asked for just one replacement, her parents loomed, reprimanding her with a sharp and uncaring "Good girls aren't greedy." That is, until Stacy's eighth birthday.
Everyone had left from the modest party hours ago. The old house was quiet, sometimes creaking, as the foundations settled. That's what Dad said, anyways. Stacy knew there was a monster somewhere in the house. Oh, she knew that it was here.
Her building blocks are scattered across the floor, shadows stark in the pale illumination of her nightlight. As the hand of the clock ticks closer to eleven, those blocks begin to rattle ominously, the floorboards beneath creaking at the same time. It's routine, now.
The clocks around the house begin to chime.
Dong.
A scratching of claws against tile. Stacy's ears strain to hear the click-drag of a beast's long lope.
Dong.
The stairs shudder and groan as a weight far too heavy utilizes their thin purchase.
Dong.
Panting echos down the hallway, a raspy, nearly moist sort of breath. A ker-chick. Stacy hazards a peek out her door, through a barely there crack.
Dad has a gun. He's terrified, she realizes, of the monster pacing a few feet away from him. With a drawn out sigh, she pushes the door closed again. The tumblers click into place as she spins the lock.
Dong.
A sharp crack, and a whine followed quickly by a growl sound from the corridor. Dad yells in what can only be pain, but Stacy, somehow, can barely bring herself to not care. He didn't believe her anyways. He didn't believe about the hound. Neither did Mom, and now it wants them. She can't stop the monster now.
Dong.
Dad's yell cuts off abruptly, and Stacy chokes back tears as the gravity of the situation finally sinks in. The floor spins beneath her feet, and so she stumbles backwards until she reaches her bed. 'It was a mistake!' she wants to scream, 'I change my mind!' But she can't, because Dad is dead, and judging by the loud noises from her parents' bedroom, Mom is nearly gone too.
Dong.
Mom is silent now. Stacy can hear the monstrous hound making its way towards her room. She is silent now, too, clutching her teddy bear to her chest as tears stream hotly down her cheeks.
Dong.
The beast's noisy progress halts, and is replaced by the sound of what could only be the devouring of her father's body. Bile forces its way up her throat, and Stacy retches as her nausea peaks.
Dong.
She curls up on her bed, sobbing with snot, tears, and vomit staining the front of her nightgown and her bear, who she halfheartedly wipes off before crushing to her chest. Stacy waits, in utter terror, for the monster to enter her room.
Dong.
The walls shake as the beast tries to force the door open. The old wood shudders before snapping violently, sending splinters flying across the room. Stacy sits up, clutching her bear tightly.
Dong.
Scarlet eyes, slitted menacingly. They glow from the depths of the hound's eye sockets, and they're both trained on Stacy and her disheveled appearance. She sniffles, and as Stacy reaches a wrist up to wipe her nose, the giant canine lunges.
Dong.
Stacy had always known something was wrong with her house. Mom and Dad didn't listen, but in the end, she hadn't listened either. The house sits quietly now. The monster is sated, but the foundations tremble in melancholy silence. So many warnings, but none were heeded. After all, monsters don't really exist, do they?
