It was an appealing, brick cottage with blossom, lush back garden and tulips growing up from the grass and making a entrance to the door. The door was open with out really  thinking about it, she stepped inside. Her core starting thrashing gladly. The house had everything you might need; a comfortable luxurious sitting room with recliner sofa and wood crackling burning fire; a tiny Syrian hamster  running in its wheel. had two shiny cups and plates with china dolls set.

“hello, “spoke cosmina, wondering if anyone else was there. But she was met by silence. She made her way. there was no one in the darkened kitchen  ,though the  kitchen were made up with deep-coloured pans and cups, for a moment she wondered….

She had had thrown into her drawing. One thing she craved and didn’t seen as if that was going to come true. There was no sighn of the sloth  she never saw her sloth but she was not sure if he was there. I didn’t feel right. Then she heard it…

Something downstairs; something moving and it wasn’t exactly using footsteps. It was strange stepping noises accompanied by low buzzing. She glanced up the stairs, plucked up courage and ascendant step-by-step, trying to keep it dead nothing moved. Only the noses from the telephone still rang. A moment later, wide open. It  was   then when she eye contacted; it was a over-shadow forehead; and a sharp razor knife lacerate the flooring. There was no hesitation this time. Cosmina shoved the cottage door open and fast as her legs could carry her, she dashed back up the pathway, though the forest and towards where the door had been.

But there was nothing there no door, nothing more than a woodland and extending   unendingly working, cast down with a outline and appearance and vague moved out a meaning

“coming back”, growled a voice behind her