![padlock1346240_1920.jpg](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/herbertholmes2/wFrDt0LU-padlock-1346240_1920.jpg)
[Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/padlock-door-lock-old-door-1346240/)



*Why did I ever call that phone number?*

Emilia was spiraling. Something that seemed so innocent, so interesting, so compelling; had now become so dark; so irreversible. She did not want to be a part of this. But now, she was. 

She had never, ever in her life imagined that the phone call to that man in the bowler hat would turn into this. *I would do ANYTHING to turn time back three days and simply throw out that piece of paper*

But it was too late now. There she was, in that dark basement, facing the door with the iron exterior- well knowing the other side of it was wood. Silence. It did not matter if there was noise on the other side of that door; she knew she would never hear it. 

She would never see what was on the other side. *Maybe it's nothing too horrible* Emilia thought. *After all, he said everything was completely consensual. And SHE assured me it was true*

But they would not tell her what exactly she was feeding. What she was talking to(even though she had been urged not to try to communicate; for they told her it was "pointless"). She only knew that she would put the food through the slot, and that she would come back to remove the empty plate a half hour later. There seemed to be an intermediate chamber between the exterior of the room and the interior. Whenever she would open the door she only saw black, and she could only imagine there was a similar slot door on the other side. 

If that was the case, surely it *must* be consensual. *Right?*. If the being on the other side wanted to communicate with her, if they were in distress, surely they would try to time this, *right?* To beg, at the very least. 

But there was nothing, ever. She tried to communicate. *Nothing*. She tried to ask the man in the bowler hat, she tried to pry it out of his partner(?); but was always met with roundabout responses or offers to join them in becoming overly intoxicated and laughing about whatever deep secret they had. 

*What the fuck is going on here* Emilia thought. As she had been thinking for days. Ever since that phone call. It seemed so wonderful at the time; she was new to this city, to this country, this *continent*, and she had finally made a couple of friends. Not just normal friends, but such odd, bewildering, different ones. 

And here she is. Two weeks living away from the comfort of her own home. In a dark basement feeding an unknown entity. No threats about her silence. Tonight the plate was returned with a smiley face drawn in the leftover mayonnaise and ketchup; mixed together into a sort of "lovely" pink. 

*Maybe that's a sign* she thought. She had never felt these emotions; well, sure she had, but never all at once. It was a strange sentiment. It began as disgust; but slowly evolved into mystification. 

As she took the plate back up the stairs, looking at the crudely drawn smiling face; she began to feel her face take on the same form. She was beginning to accept it; to enjoy it. She was *curious*. *Mystified*

(this was a [prompt](https://peakd.com/hive-161155/@mariannewest/day-1060-5-minute-freewrite-tuesday-prompt-mystified) by @mariannewest for a 5 Minute Freewrite! Check her out and the freewriters community)