Fort

The sounds of the monsters continued: dragging their feet, growling, giggling; whispering things to each other. The TV had gone out when Daddy was thrown into it, its screen cracked. Daddy had fallen to the floor in a heap, but inside the fort Patrick didn't have a good angle to see if he'd gotten up again.

He knew he hadn't, all the same.

Patrick could still see his grey reflection in the busted TV screen: a pair of eyes peeking out from a small cube in front of the sofa. He thought about a movie he'd watched with Daddy once, where prisoners were locked inside a metal box for punishment.

Patrick squirmed in place: part fear, part bladder. He didn't want to pee, but his body was told him otherwise. He hadn't been able to go to the bathroom before he made the fort, because Lizzy had been taking her bath.

...Lizzy.

Patrick almost stood up with shock. His little sister's bedtime had come and gone. She'd bathed and been tucked in after a hard day of twirling practice and running around like a maniac.

Patrick knew, then. Lizzy was aware of what all children were aware of: if you hid under the covers and stayed very still, monsters couldn't find you.

Lizzy was still alive, hiding in her bed. She had to be. The alternative was freaking out and getting eaten; no sane child would want that.

He could get to her, and they could find some way out of this. He just had to figure out how to get upstairs without getting eaten himself. Except the only way he could escape getting chomped up was if he stayed inside the fort.