There were walls around her, too close to be a room. This time there were no gaps beneath the panels so there was no way to see the feet that appeared outside. The smell of faint rot was masked by the popurrí sitting in a wicker basket on the back of the toilet.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are." Called an old sing-song voice that stirred dread in the pit of her stomach.
Ari held her breath. Not daring to move a single muscle. Somehow she knew that if she was caught, bad things would happen. That this person who called out to her from beyond the door was the flame for a moth.
Footsteps echoed closer and closer and right when they were before the door the chime of bells pierced the tension.
The bells persisted even after her eyes opened to soft morning light and the promised birds chirped in the garden.
