The Voice from Below

It was a quiet, ordinary evening. The house was still except for the soft scratching of a pencil on paper as a teenage girl sat at her desk, finishing her homework. The warm glow of her desk lamp pushed back the growing shadows of the approaching night.

Suddenly, her mother’s familiar voice rang out from downstairs, warm and inviting:

“Sweetie! Dinner’s ready!”

Relieved to take a break, she pushed her chair back and stood. Her stomach grumbled as she headed toward the staircase, her mind already on the comforting smell of her mother’s cooking.

Just as she reached the top of the stairs—SNATCH!

Cold, trembling hands shot out from the darkened laundry room beside the staircase and yanked her inside with terrifying force. She barely had time to scream before a hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she struggled against her captor. Then, a familiar scent hit her—lavender and fabric softener. Slowly, she dared to open her tear-filled eyes.

It was her mother.

But something was horribly wrong. Her mother’s face was pale and drenched in sweat, her eyes wide, bloodshot, and brimming with fear. Her grip trembled as she held her daughter close.

Her mother’s voice came out in a strained, urgent whisper:

“Don’t... go... down there, honey...”

Tears rolled down her mother’s cheeks as her breath hitched.

“I heard it too.”

The house fell into suffocating silence. Then, from downstairs...

“Sweetie... Dinner’s getting cold...”

The exact same voice. Identical.

But now, there was something... off. The warmth was gone, replaced by something hollow... something hungry.