Larry walked through the door and the first thing he noticed was that the dog's water bowl was empty again. The dank smell of the old basement mixed with feces and urine filled his nose as he stood at the top of the ten steps and stared down at the bowl.

“Thirsty *****,” he muttered.

The water bowl sat at the bottom the staircase.

Flashlight in hand, Larry casually strode, barefoot, down the steps to the bowl. Once on the basement floor, he knelt down to pick it up.

“You’re drinking an awful lot,” he said aloud. He could hear the dog chain rattling in the far corner. He knew it had to be because of the lack of food he was giving her. That’s good though. The more hungry she was, the better she would fight… at least that was his logic.

She had reluctantly, yet ferociously, won her first three fights and now he was down to feeding her just four times a week. Her next fight was tomorrow night and he was getting a little worried about how much she was drinking. The last thing he needed was for his ***** to cramp up right in the middle of a good and bloody fight. He could lose a ******* bundle and that bothered him. He considered feeding her tonight. Then, again, maybe after the fight. Save it as a reward.

She moaned. A pitiful, painful, lonely kind of moan.

He made his way along the basement with his flashlight, now flickering due to its weak batteries.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked in that high-pitched mushy, shitty tone that most people use when they’re talking to a baby. He approached her corner, the dim beam of his light threatening to leave him. On the way, he came to his work bench against the wall and groped for some new batteries.

In the corner he could hear the chain. She was moving a little.

Larry found his new batteries, cussing himself for not replacing them before he came down. He turned on the fresh beam and turned towards the bitch’s corner.

He took two steps and realized his feet had splashed in something wet. He looked down seeing the small puddle he was standing in. His beam of light traced its source to an overturned water bucket a few feet away then quickly shot across the room to the corner. She was gone. Only the tattered blanket, dirty pillow and dog chain were there. The chain led away from the bed to right.

Larry’s light streaked along to the wall and quickly found its target. She was there, huddled against the wall.
Breathing heavily, chest heaving, her dirty, unkempt skin stretched across her ribs like a thin sheet of rubber. He then saw her eyes. From under the stringy mass of disheveled hair, those eyes had a different look to them than usual. It was the same devilish look he had seen when she tore each of her opponents to pieces in the fight pit. A demonic gaze of sorts.

In her left hand was the chain, no longer around her neck. In her right hand she held one end of an extension cord up to a power outlet on the wall.

A cold chill crawled up Larry’s spine.

Larry looked down. Next to his left foot in the puddle, barely noticeable, was the severed end of the extension cord, its exposed wires attached to the lid of a coffee can.

It only took a second for Larry to figure out were all of the water had been going. And that was one second too long.

A sharp jolt flew through his body, gluing him to the floor. The numbing sensation filled every fiber of his being. His vision went white. His flashlight hand shuttered as his body tensed. Every muscle ached. His heart felt as if it were going to explode.

Then it was over. He collapsed to the floor of the basement and she was on top of him instantly; unashamed of her nakedness as her thumbs sunk into his eye sockets with a sucking, wet feeling and he squirmed and groaned weakly, unable to respond; still stunned by the jolt of electricity but no doubt feeling the pain she inflicted upon him. His flesh ripped in ribbons as she tore at his face like the animal her had turned her into.

She opened a geyser when her nails dug into his soft, vulnerable throat tissue. Blood rushed out in strong gushes as his heart pounded in his chest.

Larry made a ghastly gurgling noise as she ripped his neck apart; possibly his final attempt to holler out in pain.

Covered in blood, dirt, feces and urine, delirium had taken her over to the point that she couldn’t even remember her own name anymore.

How long had she been his *****? Where was she? Where did it all begin? Faint images of another life haunted her brain. A college. A party. Drinks with a handsome guy from out of town.

This handsome guy! This ************! He wasn’t so handsome anymore. She half-heartedly laughed at the thought.

She approached the stairs, her nude body breaking out in goose bumps from the cool breeze that flowed from up above. Slowly, she made her way up towards the door. The blinding light of freedom made her eyes water and she rubbed them as something moved beyond her field of blurred vision.

A sharp pain in her face.

The smack of skin on skin.

She was falling back down the stairs. Hitting the bottom hard.

A figure appeared in the doorway at the top of the stairs.

Her blood was still boiling. Adrenaline rushing through her veins. She shot up the stairs; three at a time. She was too fast for whoever was at the top. In two moves she was at the door as it was closing. She bolted through it like a cannon ball and her fight for freedom began all over again.

***PUBLISHED UNDER HORROR AS "The House of Grimm Presents: THE *****"***