She wrapped trembling hands around the coffee cup, feeling the styrofoam underneath her fingertips. She scratched the surface with a fingernail, grounding herself, telling herself that this all was real.

It wasn't a comforting thought. 

The whispers still echoed in the darkest recesses of her mind, teasing threads of unease down her spine. She drew her legs in tighter to her chest and halted her breath. There was nothing more she could do now, anyhow; the windows were long since boarded up, the doors all locked, and the smashed remains of her cellphone were floating in the dregs of the toilet. The shower curtain was a flimsy barrier between her and the nothing that was out there. 

She pressed her forehead against her knees, letting her breath go with a shaking sob, feeling every ounce of it drain from her and taking with it any semblance of control she had mustered up. Breathe in, too quick, and it came flowing back to her, and she pressed her lips together and stopped the air in her lungs once more. 

"Mama," the voice whined, and she whined piteously. The coffee cup fell to the bottom of the tub and she pressed her hands to her ears. The door jerked helplessly in its frame, held fast by the deadbolt she had latched to it. "Mama, please come out. I'm hungry."

"Don't talk," she mumbled. "Don't talk, you don't talk, stop it, stop it--"

The door banged against its lock, and she heard the footsteps retreat once more. 

"There's nothing there," she told herself, but the breath was sliding free from her grasp again and she was gasping. Her hands were curled into tight claws against her thighs, pieces of styrofoam still stuck to the jagged tips. "There's nothing there, just me, just me. Don't you leave this room." Her stomach was a pit and she knew, it knew. There was no stopping it.