“RARRGA!”

Daniel froze in the debris. The frame of the couch was visible, and he figured with a bit of effort, he might get access to a proper weapon.

At least he would, if he had time and tools. Once more, he wished he was on his farm instead of stuck here.

There was silence.

The small part of him that thought that this might not be a prank did not want whatever was outside coming back. It had been going down the corridor, and its roar had invoked the feeling of hunger, pain, and size. The first two were bad enough, but it was the third, the deep timbre of the roar that worried him, that bass that only came from giant lungs.

Like a bull mooing. Intense and threatening, even though it was herbivore. He knew from experience how easily a mad bull could rag doll someone.

Daniel didn’t dare move, listening to see what happened. There was sick filling in his stomach and his guts, which were never wrong; that thing out there was carnivorous, and he really did not want it noticing him.

For a moment, Daniel looked around, hoping to discover evidence of the hidden camera.

There was nothing to be seen.

He still listened intently. Was it outside the door, or had it moved away? Was he going to be something else’s breakfast?

His restless hands touched the exposed wooden supports of the broken couch. He could feel the old wood and imagined when it was a tree. It reminded him of the weird dream or nightmare. That strange state when he had been imagining growing plants, including like they did it in some of the fantasy books where they could grow living houses. There was no need for that, but if he had that sort of skill, it would be damn useful if only to let him rip the chunk of wood out. He reckoned he could do it, anyway. After all, the couch was in pieces. The piece under his hand was the main support that ran from one end of the couch to the other. If it was unbroken, it would be more than long enough.

If he could wrench it out and use it as a baseball bat, his only concern was that it would be too soft and break too quickly. If it was stronger. For a moment, it was like he was thrust into that helpless dream state. He was at one with the wood. Instinctively, he imagined creating sugar in the dormant cells, specialising them just right so they grew. Creating natural fault lines in the pattern that he imagined would be an effective weapon.

Daniel panicked. He did not want to be a victim of the dream like before. Mentally, he wrenched himself out of whatever craziness his mind was conjuring. His senses were his own once more, eyes opening registering the stained roof, the shabby plaster, the clearly broken TV, and the crumpled desk chair. It was his hotel room but distorted almost like he was caught up in the alternative reality. The show Stranger Things came to mind.

“RARAVA!”

Daniel jumped. The wood he held broke, and he found himself on his feet, ready to fight. His arms were trembling with tension and he could not control them.

It was right outside of his door!

Not down his corridor, but behind a thin chunk of wood that was only secured with an electric lock.

What had happened when electricity failed? Did the lock fail and let anyone open the door? He suspected they did, but at least the chain securing the door would be in place, but those thin links of metal would not do much against what was outside his door. Especially if it was as big as it sounded.

Daniel looked at the wood in his hand, and it had broken off into a rough club. It was something. But . . . Daniel stared toward the monster like he could look through the jutting bathroom barrier obscuring his vision and then the door itself. Hefting the club in his hand, it had a surprising amount of weight. A person he could take, but no human made that noise. He imagined a minotaur, and the weapon he held suddenly felt insignificant.

Trying to be quiet, he padded forward.

“RARRAG!”

The noise reverberated through the room, and he jumped despite himself. A shiver went out from his heart, down his arms. He paused, unable for a moment to move forward.

Why would he approach that?

“I will not be controlled by fear,” he muttered to himself, and then took a further step. He advanced till he could see the door itself, weapon held ready in case it burst into the room. His best chance would be to counter strike when it was pushing through. Letting it get fully into the room was crazy.

There was silence, no scratching, pushing, hitting. Whatever was outside was not trying to push in.

Yet.

Another step closer. The chain was in place. Thank god—if the lock failed without electricity, that at least would slow the creature. Mind you, from the sounds, he doubted it could use the handle, anyway.

He was sweating but conquering fear; he inched forward. Too close. He quivered on the spot, ready to jump any which way.

There was the sound of snuffling.

His mouth was dry, and he lifted the club up, cursing to himself at how they were trembling so the club was inadvertently swaying side to side. His fear was palpable. Those noises were not a human pretending to be big. Those roars were not a prank. All the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

Daniel prayed for the monster to go away, and he did not believe in God.

“RARRG!”

He jumped again. “Fark.” The curse slipped, but quieter than a squeak. He could not yell if he tried. Subconsciously, he took a step back before he stopped himself, psyching himself up that if it came through the door, he would smash it before it could react.

There was the sound of something heavy against the door, like a massive monster was leaning on it.

Daniel looked around the bed. It was too low to the ground; he would never fit, and it had squeaked. The terror invoked by the roars had made him forget about that.

Panting.

The toilet was the best option.

Slowly, he eased himself closer and into the dark space. Internally, he berated himself for hiding. He should be out there meeting it head on like a man.

A bead of sweat ran down his back. Daniel prayed inside his head that the monster would lose interest and go away. His reflection stared back at him through the cracked mirror. He looked like he was recovering after a sprint, maybe one in which a bear had been chasing him. The room had a separate enclosed toilet, which he eased into like a coward and hoping the hinges would not creak in. They did not, and it was pitch black. If it was stupid and did not have a sense of smell. It was not worth thinking about, and instead, Daniel focused on slowing his breathing.

It was not much of a hiding spot, but it was something.

He stood there in the dark with his head pressed against the tiles, his weapon resting on the ground.

Whatever was out there was not a creature he wanted to fight. Some sort of beast, maybe even an illegal genetic experiment. That some evil scientist had released in the hotel for what purpose? He bit down on a hysterical laugh. It did not make one iota of sense. Nothing was making sense. Daniel held in the scream because he had to be silent.

Nothing was making sense.

Hide.

Hopefully, the authorities would deal with it or it would go away by itself.

Then the nightmare could be over and he would catch a ride to the farm and forget all about becoming a reality television star.

Maybe this was a joke. Maybe a TV show, but if it was, there would be hell to pay, as he had signed no contracts. Then again, it was not like a farmer could take on a TV studio.

Long minutes passed and then he heard moving and roaring further down the corridor.

With an explosive huff, he released the breath he had not realised he had been holding.

The monster had felt real. Far too real to be a prank. The tile he was pressing against shifted, but he was able to get his hands up in time to stop it falling. Nothing was making sense. How could everything be so delicate?

What was he going to do?

Daniel walked out of the toilet and tried to move silently. If this was a practical joke, the attention to detail was incredible. The door was shut with the chain intact.

Daniel’s eyes snapped back to the bed abruptly, remembering that squeal, and the purse, and that the room was secured from the inside.

The clues coalesced. Daniel moved closer—but not too close—to the bed.

“Ivey?”

Silence greeted him.

The day was getting weirder. If it was Ivey under his bed, the whole TV hoax thing got further away. She was a nurse and not an actor.

Why was she under the bed?

Why were there monsters out there?

What the hell was happening?

Deep down, Daniel knew he was deceiving himself. This was not a candid camera setup. It was too real, too visceral, too sustained and too much detail. It was . . . Daniel could not work out what it was, apart from the simple truth that it was terrible. That cold certainty settled inside him.

If this was not a joke, then facts spoke for themselves. The place had fallen into disrepair overnight. There were monsters in the corridor and almost certainly a girl hiding under his bed. Whatever had happened was unimaginable, and the implications echoed around in Daniel’s head and he almost wished that this was the dream of some crazed producer even if it resulted in the image of him cowering in the bathroom going wide into the universe.

“I know you are there, Ivey.” He tried to keep his voice soothing and extra quiet in case the thing in the corridor had snuck back. As he spoke, he padded closer to the bed, but not too close. There was always a chance that he was wrong and instead of Ivey, it was a monster he had heard. A boogie man, maybe.

“The chain is still in and I found your purse.”

More silence.

“I will not hurt you.”

She was not saying anything. Her hiding under there made no sense. He was tempted to poke with the stick or maybe push the mattress off to see what was under there.

“Don’t hurt me,” a terrified voice squeaked from under the bed.

Daniel froze. Why would he ever hurt anyone? What was going on? Once more, he looked up at the roof, searching for hidden cameras.

“I don’t hurt women,” Daniel snapped despite himself. “What’s the hell is going on? What happened to my iPad? My phone?” The words spewed out more aggressively than he hoped; he was just angry and uncertain and still recovering from the monster. Basically, his emotions were frayed, and that leaked through. If she was already scared, his response would not have helped. But why? What was she worried about? “And why are you under the bed?”

“Promise not to hurt me?”

“I don’t hit women,” he repeated, softer this time.

He did not know that was happening, but she was scared, so it did not hurt to be soothing. The inbuilt accusation, however, stung. He would never hit a woman, no matter what she did. He had been brought up properly.

There was a pause, with no movement.

“Why aren’t you coming out?”

“When is your birthday?”

“What? Why does that matter?” he asked. Was she crazy?

“Please.” She sounded petrified.

“25th of November,” he relented.

“And what was I drinking last night?”

Daniel’s first thought was how was he to know, but he thought back. “Some pink girly drink in a bottle, but I don’t know what it was.”

“Okay, I am coming out.”

“What is happening?” Daniel repeated. “I don’t understand, and I feel weird and everything is trash.”

He saw a shapely leg poke out from under the bed. It was a tight fit.

“Give me a moment,” she said, “I think I can explain.”