The small rectangular window glowed a deep red, night was falling over the outside world. It was a world that I had once taken for granted, a place where I had been safe, where I had been in control. Out there, I had been confident and sure of myself, I had been loved. Lars had known his place, out there it was me who had held the reins. It was a world that, sat in that basement suddenly seemed so distant to me. A world that existed just on the other side of that grimy pane of glass but to me, it could have been a million miles away, little more than a half remembered dream,

  The failing light shone on the concrete floor, a deep crimson, like a stain of blood spilling from the window as the day took its final gasps before finally succumbing to the darkness of the night.

  A chill, damp draught caressed my skin, prickling, raising goosebumps, sending shivers convulsing through me.

  A twitch of movement caught in the corner of my eye, my head snapped around but it was gone as quickly as it came.

  I could feel them. Deep in the shadows, I could feel eyes watching me, burrowing into my mind. Beedy eyes, flickering just out of sight. Hiding in the gloom that surrounded me. Eyes that looked straight into the depths of my mind as they poked through the blackness of my soul. They could see it all. They could see the past, the things that I had done. They could see the future, those things that in time I would come to do. All the things that would drag my wretched soul deeper and deeper into the void of despair.

  Silently they watched me, silently they judged me.

  I pushed myself backwards, the rough, cold stone of the wall digging into my back as I pressed against it. A pointless attempt at retreat. My breathing was shallow, every breath snagging in my throat. The frantic, rhythmic pounding of my heart echoed loudly inside my skull.

  The shadows began to draw in towards me, warping and twisting into grotesque shapes. Tendrils reaching out towards me, like wispy vipers, their forked tongues seemingly flicking out at me, licking at me in the dim light.

  The glow from the outside gradually began to change. First a deep blood red which slowly deepened, becoming a bruised purple before fading entirely into the black of night. A black that matched the dread that I could feel deep within myself.

  Inside the basement the shadows crept forward, they encroached on me threateningly, leaning further in on me until they engulfed me and wrapped me in their blackness.

  I didn’t sleep at all that first night in the basement, the first night that I remember being in there at least.

  Nighttime in that place never offered any peace. When the darkness began to settle over the basement was when it would come to life. That was when the creatures, those shapeless forms that were confined to the deepest shadows during the day, awoke. Things that crawled and crept, slithered and writhed from the dark. Shapeless things, twisted things. Their eyes would flicker, glowing red in the impenetrable blackness. Their long sharp teeth, glinted white, flashes reflecting a light that wasn’t there. Their voices came, soft rustles like dry, autumn leaves underfoot.

  Were they real or just figments of my imagination? I wasn’t sure, I’m still not. Every night was the same, although at least in those early days the horrors kept largely to themselves.

  I was blinded by the absolute darkness. Once the sun had gone down, no light was able to penetrate into that suffocating void.

  My ears pricked up, with my other senses deprived, my hearing became instantly heightened, the slightest sound becoming amplified. Sounds that were usually inaudible became clearer to me. A soft rustle, voices, hushed, whispering to each other, too low to understand. The sounds of scratching and scuttling, sounds of movement. I could hear them, I could feel them, they were all around me. Their claws, a dry scratching on the concrete of the floor. They scraped and grated on the metal pipes that wound around the walls of the room. They were curious, observing me, surrounding me. The occasional flicker from of a pair of glowing red eyes or a glint of sharp, shining white teeth in the darkness was a terrifying reminder that they were always there, always watching.

  I could sense them, crawling, creeping towards me, reaching out at me. Unseen in the darkness, they edged ever closer to me. I could smell them around me, a heavy musty scent that lingered in my nostrils.

  The wall was hard and cold as I flattened my back against it, pressing back against it ever more tightly. Every muscle tense and trembling as a cold sweat broke out across my body. A sweat that only served to chill me further in the dank air.

  I would feel them touching me, a bony finger softly brushing my foot or my hand. Their touch was cold and unnatural, frigid like the icy chill of midwinter. Each one sending a shudder of revulsion convulsing through my body, a deathly numbness stabbing at my core.

  Every touch was a shock, causing me to instinctively snatch myself away and send them retreating back into the oppressive darkness from where they came.

  Every night it was the same, an endless cycle. I would huddle against the wall as the unseen presences scuttled about me.

  I would spend the nights staring in the direction of that small window, my eyes fixed as I prayed for the first hint of dirty grey to slice through the black void that had engulfed me. Prayed for that first sign of daybreak as I counted down the continual drips which still echoed in the blackness. Anything to occupy my mind and divert my thoughts from the terrors that were all around me.

  A wave of relief would wash over me, a sudden warmth rising from deep within my heart, I’d watch as the meagre glimmer of first light would push its way into my isolated world, chasing the shadows back to the edges of the basement, sending the creatures retreating with them.

  With the light gradually seeping into my dungeon, the pitch black of the night slowly gave way to the sombre grey of the day. Yet, even in this dim light I could still feel their eyes on me, always on me, ever watching me, ever whispering my name. But now they cowered only in the darkest recesses of the basement. Behind the discarded furniture, under a pile of boxes. Their eyes looked out at me longingly but they couldn’t get to me.

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  The dawn only ever offered the briefest whisper of safety, however. Because every morning, shortly after daybreak, there would be the inevitable and ominous creak from the door at the top of the stairwell, hinges grating, metal on metal as it opened. The echoing, dull thud of his footsteps would follow, slowly, one by one as he descended those steps. His shadow, long and foreboding, would stretch into the room first, before Lars himself ducked his head and emerged from the pale haze of the passage into the basement, his eyes instantly searching me out.

  Most of those mornings are a blur to me now, the repetitive monotony of them blending together. But the first morning, that morning which followed the first night, I can remember well.

  I hadn’t slept at all that night. My eyelids felt heavy and drooping, it was an effort to keep them open. My vision blurred, objects swimming before my eyes. I was utterly exhausted, in both mind and body but finally feeling safe from the horrors of the night, I at last allowed myself to surrender to my tiredness and slip into a dreamless sleep.

  I have no idea how long I had slept for but the sudden sound of a voice shattered the silence and jolted me awake. He had come in without me even realising.

  “Good morning, my darling sister!”, Lars’ voice was loud, booming around the room.

  My eyes flickered open, blinking to rid themselves of the sleep that had formed in the corners. Slowly the world around me began to come into view.

  He towered above me, the dim light casting his long shadow over me as he fixed those cold, hard eyes on mine.

  His lips parted in a soft chuckle, a chuckle that was lacking in any warmth, “Are you not going to wish me a good morning as well? It’s the polite thing to do, and you do remember what we said about being polite and respectful don’t you?”

  Respect! There was a leap in my stomach as my breath hitched. My bruises suddenly flaring, hot and painful as a vivid reminder of what could happen if I didn’t please my brother.

  My throat tightened and voice trembled as I forced out the hollow words, “Good morning Lars, I hope you’re well?”.

  “Oh, I’m very good thank you, Heidi. It’s a lovely day outside,” his voice suddenly taking on a grating, malicious edge, “such a shame that you can’t enjoy it.”

  His mouth twisted into a smirk as he looked down at me. “Here, I thought that you might like some breakfast?”

  His chilly, icy gaze never left me as he bent down and placed a bowl in front of me. Then, without saying another word, he stood, turned, the heel of his boot scraping on the floor and began making his way towards the steps. Only pausing briefly to scoop up the pasta bowl that I’d thrown yesterday.

  A faint titter of laughter, barely audible, pricked my ears as he opened and then proceeded to slam the door behind himself with a shuddering thud.

  Carelessly stuffed into the bowl that he had just left for me was a half eaten pizza, topped with congealed cheese and slices of ham which were just beginning to curl at the edges. Alongside the pizza was some cold, picked apart chicken legs, wrinkled, grey boiled eggs and boiled potatoes, their skins already shrivelling.

  That was the breakfast that Lars had left me.

  They weren’t just his leftovers and scraps, they were a deliberate and calculated message. He wanted me to understand just how much I mattered to him. That this was how he really saw me. To him I was just a stray dog that should be thankful for any scraps that were thrown her way.

  Yet, as much as I hate to admit it, deep inside myself I did feel gratitude, even if it was a reluctant gratitude. Even in the early days of my captivity, the stark reality was that I was utterly dependant on him. He controlled everything, even my very survival. It was a terrifying thought and something that we were both well aware of.

  That was the reality of my life now. My world had been reduced to a bleak, grey, damp concrete box. The continual cycles of suffocating darkness followed by weak, dim light which was followed again by darkness were the only indication that I had of the passing of time in an otherwise featureless existence.

  It was always the same. By night, when I was plunged into that impenetrable blackness was when they would come out. They would torment me, hiss at me, whispering to each other, conspiring with each other just out of my reach.

  I knew they were there, the occasional flicker of red eyes or the predatory glint of sharp white teeth betrayed their presence. Those cold, bony fingers reaching out at me, brushing me with their touch. Every night they would grow bolder and as the days and weeks went on, they started coming closer to me, the smell of them getting ever stronger. Those unseen hands would pull at my hair or tug on my dress, touches that sent shivers down my spine. They were playing with me, toying with me, but always retreating, scurrying back away into the darkness before I could strike out at them. Their low, rustling laughter taunting and mocking me from beyond my reach.

  Eventually, a new day would dawn and the shadows and the creatures that dwelt in them would be pushed back once again into the darker corners of the basement, corners where I never dared to venture.

  And then the cycle would repeat, shortly after daybreak would come the sharp click and grating sound of metal on metal, a sound that became very familiar. It was the sound of the door at the top of the dark staircase opening.

  Over time I would come to look forward to the sound of the key in that lock, I would crave Lars’ arrival. A flutter of excitement would ripple through me, my eyes wide in anticipation as he stepped out of that passage and into the basement that had become my home, my prison. My heart would start beating faster, hands shaking in my lap in anticipation. An anticipation of a primal need that rose above any fear that I felt.

  Lars’ arrival meant food, sustenance, survival and I would sit there, hunched on that cold, damp ground and look up at him expectantly. I would look up at him with the same pleading look that Bella used to give me before she was given her dinner.

  Despite everything that he had done, everything that had happened, a small seed of trust had begun to sprout inside me. A trust in Lars. It was a dangerous feeling, a betrayal of everything that I had endured but I knew that I was totally dependent on him. I dared not imagine what would happen if he decided to stop providing for me. It was a fragile trust, there was always that slight whispering doubt in the back of my mind however, a whispered warning to be wary, to not give in to him completely.

  He would always place the bowl in front of me. Sometimes he would simply walk away and leave without a word, other times he would stay, sitting there and watching me as I ate enthusiastically. Occasionally we would even chat, just meaningless pleasantries and small talk. His eyes would never leave me, a small, cruel smile would tighten his lips, the smile of satisfaction.

  The food that he would bring me was often little more than scraps and leftovers, the remnants of his evening meals. Cold pasta, rice, left over chicken, half eaten takeaways. Very occasionally he would bring me luxuries, cheeses, bread, even once a hot fish soup, delightful comforts that would set my tastebuds alive, small glimmers of hope that things could improve. But it didn’t matter what the food was, I always ate enthusiastically.

  Very soon I would have to learn the hard way not to question his ‘kindness’.

  I often thought about Bella in those dark days, I dearly missed the warmth of those big, gentle brown eyes. I longed to throw my arms around her neck tightly, to pull her close and feel that thick black fur against myself.

  But there was no Bella down there, there was no love or hope. Just me, the creatures and Lars.