Broken glass and dead leaves crunched under her feet as she approached the old, run down house at the end of the street. She would think it was abandoned, if not for the pale, flickering light of a television she could see through the front window, and the faint shadow of a man as he moved about inside. She knew he was not a good man; the smell of the bodies buried in shallow graves in the basement was proof of that, and she was very, very hungry.
Venom pooled in her mouth, and her throat burned as she stepped quietly inside. A single fluorescent light bulb lit the hallway, revealing peeling wallpaper and cheap linoleum, and when she shut the front door the hinges creaked and groaned. In the living room, the man started awake, his heart rate speeding up as he realized he was no longer alone. Blindly, he reached for a weapon – a gun, maybe, or a knife – but it was too late for him now.
"I'm Lizzie" she said, and smiled, showing all her teeth.