I moved slowly through the kitchen, looking side to side nonstop.

Have you ever woke up late and tried to sneak past your parents to eat something from the fridge after being sent to sleep without dinner?

Have you felt how the friendly environment of your house turns into an evil jester, mocking you and producing all sorts of strange noises you've never heard before?

When I found this place as a refuge from the things outside, I was relieved. When I found the note and the energy bar, I was even happy – the tiny bit of happiness this place could give you. Now, this place had turned into a nightmare as well.

I could hear not only the creaking floorboards underneath my feet but also the sink in the kitchen dripping constantly.

A gust of wind threatened to slam an unseen door, alerting the thing back in. I stuck to the sides near the wall, believing that perhaps this way I could blend in with the environment or at least make its quest to find me a bit harder.

At least now things appeared to have returned to normality – if this could be considered normal – as things weren't defying laws of physics anymore.

I noticed a narrow door on my side; had I not been sticking to the wall, I'd probably have missed it. It was one of those old slide doors that mimicked the rest of the wall. My grandmother used to have one in her house; it led to a pantry.

Even in this desperate situation, I couldn't help but feel hungry, and my mouth watered at the thought of a pantry filled with food.

I slid it open discreetly, slowly, one inch at a time, and then slipped through the moment it was barely sufficiently open.

Then I noticed it wasn't a pantry – not a common one, at least. A set of stairs led down; I didn't know how deep because there wasn't any light.

I got a bad feeling, but what could I do? Return to the monster? No way!

I descended the stairs very carefully, attentive not to slip because the steps were very narrow – barely half my foot, perhaps even less.

I even switched to descending with my feet sideways rather than frontal, but quickly switched back as I realized that the thing above could still show up, and having my feet improperly positioned would lead to a splint and a subsequent fall.

The sounds of the house dimmed the further I went down. I don't know how much – like I said, it was very dark, and I had to go rather slow – but if I had to take a guess, about thirty feet or so, when the place started making sounds of its own: a dripping noise, similar to the one from the kitchen's faucet, but instead of water-on-metal, this was more like water-on-water, like the place was flooded.

I don't even have the strength to be surprised anymore, but how could that thing be so obsessed with cleanliness when its house was so rundown? Maybe it was some sort of metaphorical purity concept that drove it crazy? I'm sick of not knowing.

I kept going down for minutes on end, and the more I descended, the more the water drops seemed to echo, making me realize that this basement was of epic proportions. What on earth did that thing keep here?

I swallowed hard. Could it be that it stored the "cleansed" people? My feet touched the shallow water, and I continued forward as it rose to my waist. To my left, I felt something squarish touch me, and I frantically pushed it aside, making a loud splashing noise. I paled and remained still as my mind wandered to dark places – places I didn't want to go.

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In the darkness, my overactive imagination conjured up all sorts of body parts and disgusting fluids murky-ing the water. I imagined the water was dyed pinkish-red, and the square I pushed was someone's torso, or a bundle of arms, or perhaps an entire person – a child, maybe. No, I didn't want to imagine anymore.

A part of me wished I had batteries for the flashlight. Another part thought that perhaps what was out there was beyond my wildest imagination.

I pictured turning on the flashlight to find myself surrounded by never-ending murky waters that grew darker and redder the further they stretched, with floating pieces of non-human aberration moving around, fishing for body parts. I imagined my panic, suddenly dashing back to the stairs, not realizing it was too late, and the beings alerted to my presence by the disturbed water. As I ran and splashed, I stumbled due to panic and friction, and then they caught up to me... Yes, perhaps it was better not to see.

The water level rose, and I was neck-deep, inclining my head up to catch a little air. I felt disgusting little blobs of unknown substances touching my lips and getting into my mouth. Did you know that the lips are the most sensitive part of the human body?

My biology teacher had the entire class draw a deformed person she called "the homunculus" – a man with hands three times his head size and lips covering half his face, while the rest of his body was child-sized. I was disgusted, especially since the man was naked. The teacher said it represented the human body's most sensitive areas. I never liked school.

I couldn't touch the bottom now; I was keeping myself afloat in the water, slowly advancing carefully to avoid sudden movements. I started to get nervous. How big was this place?

Was it even a basement? The water was cold, and the floating objects kept increasing in number.

What were they? Eggs? I started hyperventilating. Eggs of what? And I had swallowed a few; what if they grew inside me and burst through my stomach like in that movie?

I felt something solid ahead – a wall. I widened my eyes as I floated to the sides, feeling the walls.

There was no helping it; I had to dive. I stalled for time. This wasn't a videogame; there might be nothing on the other side of the wall, or the surface might be beyond my reach. I recalled playing to see how long I could hold my breath.

My farthest record was one minute; then I gave up, gasping for air. One minute, sixty seconds – and I'm not a professional swimmer; my dad just taught me the basics on vacation.

I wanted to cry. Why did bad things keep happening to me? Was it because I ran away from home? I'm sorry! I shouldn't have run away, okay? I knew there was no going back. I had to dive, and if I drowned... well, there was nothing I could do.

I opened my mouth, grabbed a mouthful of air, but felt it wasn't enough. I should have expelled all the "used air" before. I exhaled until my ribs hurt against my chest and then drew breath as fast as I could; I didn't want to waste time.

I stretched out a hand toward the wall and quickly dived, frantically swinging my legs and left arm while keeping my right arm upward to maintain direction. People often drown because they lose notion of where the surface is, I reminded myself. I kept going, feeling the air burn hot inside my chest.

I concentrated on the wall/ceiling, which got gritty, probably due to prolonged exposure to water. Some kind of moss or slimy substance grew out of it, wrapping around my fingers and making me pull out my arm.

I got scared and tried to stretch it back to the ceiling, but couldn't find it. I couldn't stop moving; the scare made me spin around in the water. Where was the ceiling? I moved ahead for five seconds, feeling I should have reached it by now. I moved left, trying again, but seconds passed, and I still couldn't find anything. I started to panic. The air was burning in my chest, burning out.

I flailed my arm wildly, trying to grasp something, anything, but found nothing. I decided to go all or nothing – I'd swim upward, no matter what.

I frantically stroked with both legs and arms, racing to reach my destination as fast as possible, counting the seconds passing. I was well over a minute.

How long could I hold my breath without losing consciousness? I felt lightheaded; the adrenaline couldn't keep up with the stress I'd endured. I should've been in my bed. Perhaps if I fell asleep here, I'd wake up at home...