If you are stood reading this letter, then I am sorry.
Make yourself comfortable.
The note fluttered slowly to the floor as Jack raced for the front door. His heart was hammering in his chest as his hands roamed the door, looking for a handle. There was none. The inside of the door was perfectly flat under his frantically scrabbling fingers. His searching eventually gave way to crashing blows from his fists until his hands and knuckles were bruised and bloody.
“LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT YOU BASTARD.”
Jack slumped to the floor, his head tilted back, eyes closed. He breathed slowly, deliberately, fighting to control the trembling in his hands. He leant forward, pushing his head between his knees as his head swam and panic threatened to overwhelm him.
After a few minutes he stiffened, and then scrambled in his pockets for his phone to try and dial 999. Nothing happened. He tried again; still nothing. Cursing loudly, the rammed his phone back into his pocket and hauled himself to his feet. His hands were sore, the fingers swelling up and turning delightful shades of purple and black. He winced when his jeans rubbed against his knuckles.
Jack walked down the hall, picking up the pizza he’d delivered and taking out a slice. He munched on it defiantly. If he was going to be stuck here he sure as hell wasn’t going to go hungry. His only thought was:
“If only I had a beer to wash it down with.”
He poked his head around every door he found that wasn’t locked. He was surprised with what he found. The lounge had a brown leather reclining sofa that faced an enormous TV screen. The gym had every cardio and weight machine known to man and the bedroom had a stylish four poster bed that sat right in the middle of the room. Finally, Jack found the kitchen and, ignoring all else, headed straight for the fridge. He was chanting under his breath.
“Please have beer. Please have beer. Please have beer.”
The fridge was crammed full. To Jack’s satisfaction, there was beer in the door. He cracked the bottle open and the lid fell to the floor with a light jingle as it bounced away. He stooped to pick it up and noticed tiny writing scratched into the painted surface of a cupboard door.
To eat is to be eaten.
Jack pondered the significance of the message while munching on another slice of pizza. His chewing slowed as the turned to look back at the cupboard. His eyes widened as he glanced down at the pizza in his hand. Understanding dawned on him like an energy saver light bulb; slowly growing brighter. His captor was a cannibal and all the food was to fatten him up for slaughter. He considered the choices before him. Eat and survive long enough to be eaten, or starve.
Jack retched and ran for the bathroom.