His smile vanishes.

“Are you happy, Vanilla?” he asks, petting her head.

She nods.

“Good.”

He leans in and kisses her forehead before standing from the mattress.

“Daddy? Where are you going?”

He stops in front of the door, his hand hovering over the lock. “I have some things to do, my sweet.”

Before she can stop him, he is gone. The door shuts.

But the lock does not snap.

She stares at the door. She stares and stares and stares without blinking. She stares without breathing. The door morphs in her vision, creeping farther and farther away from her the longer she stares. Her focus twists into a dark tunnel that constricts until all she sees is that metal slab. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes loose in their sockets.

Nothing feels real.

Nothing.

She is mentally floating. She stands from her mattress. Her legs feel wobbly and she holds on to the wall to stop herself from falling. She bounces up and down a few times and bends her joints and strains them until she feels her limbs are back under her control. She walks toward the door. Although far away by her vision, it is only a few steps until she is standing right in front of it. The lock’s position rests in parallel to the ground. Her daddy’s words echo through her head:

“This lock will keep you safe. It will remain untouched unless you wish for the creatures to come in. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy! I do!”

She places her hand on the metal and carefully turns the knob, ready to stop if she hears footsteps or yelling.

Or a creature’s growl.

But all is quiet.

The doorknob clicks and the door loosens from its frame. She pulls the heavy metal toward her. There is a shift in the lighting. She looks down the gaping mouth of the hallway, her skin tingling from the novelty. Freely roaming in this space seems so impossible to her—a dream, or a nightmare—yet she takes the step. The same steps her daddy takes. Her foot makes contact with the ground beyond.

She reaches the first door on her left. The first one of the hallway.

She turns toward it, a feeling of uncanniness bubbling within her. It looks like her own. Only she is on the other side of it now. The sole difference is that where the lock should be, this door instead has a small hole.

She grabs the doorknob and turns it slightly. It gives in to the rotation. She turns the knob all the way and pushes the door, letting it swing open no more than her head’s width.

She barely peers inside, only daring to stick her head in a few inches. Half of the room is obscured by the doorframe, but from what she can see, the room looks exactly like her own. It even has the same lumpy mattress shoved into the corner. A loose lightbulb dangles from its ceiling.