A Firm grip, on a Clawed hand
The house was still that night, the kind of silence that felt unnatural, like the world itself was holding its breath. Harry lay curled in the cupboard under the stairs, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling, his mind replaying the events of the past two days.
The image of something prowling in the garden—just beyond the reach of the dim porch light—was etched into his thoughts. He hadn’t seen much, just a shifting shadow and the impression of something large and hunched. He told himself it was probably a stray dog or a fox, but the fear twisting in his stomach wouldn’t listen to reason.
And then the news about the neighbors came. Their dog had barked incessantly the night before, but when the owner came out to check, it had gone quiet. Too quiet. The next morning, what was left of Mr. Roberts had been found in his garden, his body… changed. Harry didn’t know all the details—Aunt Petunia had shooed him away from the kitchen while the police asked questions—but the word “cannibalized” had stuck with him, even if he wasn’t sure what it meant.
The house was dark now. Everyone else was asleep. But Harry couldn’t close his eyes, his senses hyper-aware of every creak and rustle.
And then, he heard it.
The faintest scrape against the front door. Harry sat up, his body tense. Another scrape. Then the soft metallic click of the lock turning.
The door opened slowly, the hinges letting out the barest groan. Harry held his breath, every nerve in his body screaming at him to stay silent.
Soft, padded footsteps moved through the hallway. Heavy, deliberate, with an unnatural rhythm that made Harry’s skin crawl. The air grew colder, and a strange, wet sniffing sound echoed faintly, as though something was scenting the air.
It moved upstairs first, each creak of the steps like a gunshot in the silence. Harry listened as it paused outside each door, sniffing. Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon. Dudley. The sound of its footsteps sent chills down Harry’s spine.
And then it came back down.
The footsteps stopped directly outside the cupboard door. Harry's breath hitched, his small hands clutching his blanket. He willed himself to stay still, to stay silent.
The handle rattled. The door creaked open.
At first, Harry couldn’t see it. The cupboard was dark, and the thing stood just outside, a deeper shadow in the gloom. But then it stepped closer, and Harry saw something—teeth, impossibly large and sharp, glinting faintly in the dim light filtering through the cracks. Its claws scraped the floor as it moved, and the air around it carried a foul, metallic tang that made Harry’s stomach churn.
It crouched low, sniffing at him. Harry’s heart pounded so loudly he thought it might give him away. The creature let out a low, rumbling growl, almost like a question. And then, before Harry could even think to react, it surged forward.
It grabbed him with a strength that defied its thin, angular frame, its claws curling around him like iron bars. Harry gasped as it yanked him out of the cupboard, the sudden rush of cold air stealing his breath. He tried to scream, but the creature’s other claw covered his mouth, muffling any sound.
It moved quickly, unnaturally so, carrying Harry through the house without a single misstep. The front door was already open, swinging slightly in the breeze.
The last thing Harry saw before the darkness swallowed him was the faint glimmer of the streetlight outside and the silent, empty neighborhood beyond.
Then, they were gone.