The Heart's Content

Before the rescue party departed, they entrusted Husk's extra gun to Niffty, instructing her not to leave the cabaret under any circumstances, especially not to leave Beth alone. Despite Beth's assurances that she would stay put, the adults didn't fully trust her. They were convinced she might attempt to sneak out and help them, so Niffty was determined to watch over her like a protective hound. Wherever Beth went, Niffty followed—even into the bathroom.

"Niffty, this is ridiculous." Beth protested. "I can't use the toilet with you in here."

"Why not? We're both girls." Niffty replied.

"It's weird and creepy."

"That may be true, but I'm not giving you a chance to sneak off."

"How could I sneak out? I'm in the bathroom!"

"There's a window in here, and you're small and agile."

"You really think I'd try to escape through the bathroom window?"

"Absolutely. Your brother did it once, and so did Rosie. I promised them both I wouldn't take any chances, and I never break a promise."

"Can you at least not look at me while I go?"

"I'll stand behind the shower curtain until you're done."

After Beth's bathroom break, the two settled in Rosie's living room. Poor Beth couldn't tear her gaze away from the window, anxiously scanning for any sign of her brother or anyone else she cared about returning. If there was one thing Beth despised more than anything, it was waiting. The feeling of doing nothing while someone else or some event dictated the pace of her life felt like torture. This had been true since she was a toddler, screaming for hours whenever she had to wait to be taken out of her crib or for her milk bottle to warm up. She loathed waiting for the school bus, for classes to end during study sessions, and for Christmas or her birthday to arrive so she could open presents. Although she could manage those moments, waiting for her friends and family to return safely from a dangerous mission felt unbearable.

"Come here, sweetie." Niffty said gently. "Don't keep staring; it'll only make it worse."

"I don't know what else to do." Beth said, her anxiety mounting.

Suddenly, she spotted something approaching the cabaret. At first, she thought it might be one of the others, but quickly realized the figure was slender, entirely black, and lacked arms or legs.

"Niffty." She said urgently. "You might want to see this."

Niffty rushed to the window. Upon seeing the figure slither in front of the cabaret, she grabbed a gun and a knife from the kitchen, turned off all the lights, and locked both herself and Beth inside the closet where Rosie kept her coats, jackets, boots, and hats.

"Niffty, what are you—"

"Shh!" Niffty hushed her. "Not another word. Be quiet. Don't talk and don't move until I say it's safe."

Beth nodded obediently. For what felt like an eternity, there was only silence. There was absolutely no sound, as if a vacuum had sucked it all away. Ironically, it was this stillness that heightened their fear.

Then, the silence shattered with the sound of someone picking at the lock of Rosie's apartment door. Beth's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her ears. Niffty quietly took the safety off her gun, gripping it tightly, and lowered her head to peer through the gap at the bottom of the closet door, desperate to see who—or what—was trying to get in.

The lock came undone, the door opened slowly with a creak, and in slither a giant, black, cobra-serpent. Without making a sound, Niffty slipped the knife into her apron pocket and grabbed a coat off the rack.