Junebell's Story - A Very Drunk Goblin, and a Terrible Apartment Building

The hallway goes quiet. Whatever was pressing the door is gone, and the cold draft is now just air from the open frame. Junebell stands in the middle of her apartment with a heavy, wet feeling in her gut.

Mr. Henderson stares at her, then jerks a shaky hand toward the bed. The loose floorboard sits half-lifted, a dark seam in the worn wood.

From somewhere below, a slow thump rolls up through the floor, then another, closer this time. The apartment feels less like a refuge and more like the next room in a trap.

Mr. Henderson keeps his distance from the doorway, eyes on the hall, as Junebell and the hidden stash become the only things between her and whatever is moving through the building.

Junebell hooks two fingers under the lifted board and drags it up. Dust, old wood, and a hard clink of glass answer her touch.

Below the floor, several wrapped bottles sit tucked into the dark, their necks beaded with cold.

Junebell pulls the stash free. The wrappers crinkle in her grip, and the first bottle knocks against the others like a tiny warning bell.

From somewhere lower in the building, the thumping returns, slow and heavy, making the open doorway seem narrower than before.