The cellar never bothered her. She wasn’t one to be spooked by dark corners or the peculiar smell of damp dirt. It was the perfect environment for jars of fruits and vegetables preserved for winter use.
Recently, the trips left her rattled. Small noises emanating from the dark corners. The smell of damp dirt becoming more foul than peculiar.
She stubbornly shook off the idea she was being watched.
She ignored the tingles down her spine, the raised hair at her nape.
Until she saw the eyes glowing from the dark corner. And the long claws scratching in the dirt.