THE UNSEEN RECIPE
The house had swallowed Harry whole, each corner a dark secret, each room an enigma. After the initial shock of being locked in the cold, unfamiliar room, Harry had quietly explored what he could. The doors had been locked behind him, but there was a small window high up that allowed enough moonlight to give him an eerie glimpse of the outside world. The woods beyond were dark and sprawling, too far for him to escape even if he had the chance.
Harry had wandered through the creaky halls, hoping to find something that would help him understand what was happening or, at the very least, give him some clue about how to escape. But everything in the house seemed old, untouched, like it belonged to another era. Dust lay thick over everything. The kitchen was no exception.
After a while, his hunger gnawed at him, and he found his way to the kitchen. The faint smell of something strange lingered in the air, but Harry was too distracted by the silence to care. He had become accustomed to the oppressive quiet of the house, but the kitchen felt like a place where he might regain some sense of normalcy, a place where he could maybe—just maybe—find something to make the uncertainty feel a little more manageable.
The kitchen was large, far grander than anything he'd ever seen in the Dursleys' home.. The countertops were old, marble worn with age, but the stove looked functional enough. A single, flickering candle sat on the edge of the counter, its flame casting shadows that danced on the walls. The cabinets were dark, the shelves lined with odd jars and strange bottles that Harry couldn't bring himself to open. A part of him still felt a gnawing curiosity, but there was a more pressing need to find food, something to fill his stomach.
Harry grabbed a few ingredients—his hands trembling slightly as he fumbled through the unfamiliar materials. Some stale bread, a jar of honey, and a few dried herbs were all he could find. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He wasn’t used to cooking, not really, but he managed to put together something resembling a meal. His fingers moved quickly, a strange sense of focus taking over him, as if cooking was the only thing he could control in a world that seemed to be spiraling into the unknown.
As he set the small plate down, the smell of his makeshift meal rising into the air, Harry felt a strange, quiet satisfaction. It wasn’t much, but for a moment, he felt normal again. It wasn’t the Dursleys’ kitchen, but it was something, something he had made himself.
But just as he started to pick at the meal, the door to the kitchen creaked open behind him. He didn’t hear the footsteps, but he could sense the presence, the unnatural stillness that filled the air. The monster had returned.
Harry froze, his breath catching in his throat. He didn’t turn around, but he could feel the creature looming behind him, towering over him like a dark shadow. The familiar, terrifying low growl vibrated through the air as the creature moved, and Harry stiffened.
The sound of something being dropped onto the counter made Harry’s heart skip a beat. He looked up slowly, his eyes wide with confusion. The creature—he still couldn’t see its face—had placed something heavy and lumpy onto the counter before him. It was a bag. The bag was large, brown, and so heavily stained it looked as though it had been used for something foul.
Harry swallowed, his mouth dry. A cold chill settled deep in his chest. The creature hadn’t said a word, but its silent presence filled the kitchen like an ominous cloud. He looked at the bag, trying to ignore the cold sensation creeping down his spine.
The monster’s claws scraped against the surface of the counter, a sound like nails on glass. Harry’s hands shook as he approached the bag. It was strange—the way it sat there so still, waiting. Harry felt a strange hesitation, but the creature stood behind him, unyielding, its presence pressing against him. Slowly, he unzipped the bag, his fingers trembling.
And then he saw it.
At first, Harry thought it was some kind of strange meat, perhaps from an animal. The texture was unlike anything he had seen before, sinewy and raw. But as he peered closer, his stomach lurched.
The pieces inside weren’t right. They were… too human.
The skin was too pale, too smooth, and Harry could almost see the faintest outline of bones beneath the flesh. His breath caught in his throat as the reality of what he was looking at settled in. It was too much to process all at once.
He quickly turned his head, fighting the bile rising in his throat. The creature hadn’t spoken, but Harry felt the weight of its presence, like a silent command to proceed.
But Harry couldn’t—he wouldn’t. Something was wrong. This wasn’t just food. It wasn’t just meat. This was...
But before he could form the words, the creature’s claws scraped louder against the counter, a sound like a warning. Harry knew the creature would not tolerate hesitation.
He looked back at the raw, grotesque contents of the bag, the reality of what it was slowly sinking in. His mind screamed at him to run, to flee from this house, from this nightmare. But Harry was paralyzed, his fear locking him in place.
With a trembling hand, he reached for the nearest knife, his body trembling. The kitchen felt colder now, the shadows deeper. He looked at the pieces in front of him once more. There was no escaping it.
The silence in the kitchen was overwhelming, but Harry’s pulse rang in his ears, the noise deafening.
The monster’s growl broke through the silence once more, the low rumble vibrating the walls.
And Harry, alone in that suffocating room, had no choice but to begin.