“You can trust me,” it says, as I tip-toe as swiftly as I dare into a dark corner, concealing myself – I hope – against a pile of damp, forgotten boxes. It lurches drunkenly from side to side, eyes glowing in the inky blackness of the room, head spinning at unnatural angles as it scans the space, primed for the slightest flicker of movement.
“Come here,” it adds in its sweet, musical voice. “Don’t hide.”
I risk peering over the top and instantly regret it: I’ve been spotted. Screeching with delight, it launches itself at me, face splitting in two to reveal a horrifying, pulsing void as it scurries after me, trying to suck me in. I grab my flashlight and wave it vaguely in its direction – I say vaguely because it’s leaping about a lot and I’m panicking here – but it’s ineffectual. Nothing’s happening. I realise there’s nowhere else to go, and the panic intensifies.
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