There came the harmonious click of polished heels descending the stairs.

Then a scent of sweetness and warmth that managed to send a shiver racing down my blanched skin.

“Would you like some cookies?” Betty exclaimed joyously, as if there was anything about the weathered, threadbare apartment complex we stayed in worth smiling over. My dog—Barley—was always uneasy when in her presence, barking and growling in her direction.

Whenever I’d leave for my early morning shift, Betty would be standing atop the stairs at the edge of her floor, dim light illuminating her hourglass figure and eerie, commercial-worthy smile. It was as if she were patiently waiting for me for hours, searching. Analyzing. Devouring.

After I arrived home from work, I decided to satiate my uncertainty and ask the receptionist—Sandy—what the deal was with Betty.

“Always been this way,” She shook her head, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. “She seems to take a liking to all her downstairs neighbors. But she’s been here for years. Never left.”

Aside from the rasp and Midwestern drawl in Sandy’s voice, I detected something else hiding beneath her words.

_Fear_.

It was only when I arrived back to my room did I fully comprehend the very extent of that fear.

“Welcome home,” Betty’s lips pulled into a gentle smile as I entered. She was standing in a poised manner at my dinner table, the space layered in various dishes radiating an aromatic scent.

Before I could register the horror of her presence in my home, I took notice of a particular dish lying at the center of the table.

_Barley_.

Skinned and cooked with a golden brown hue over his charred corpse, he was seasoned and lifeless.

“I know you never eat any of the dishes I cook for you,” Betty said with a demoralized yet hopeful sigh. “So I thought you’d like something that reminded you of…_home_.”