His name was Bráulio. He scratched his bald head and sniffed the air. There was no doubt—a strong odor lingered—but nothing unusual within his line of sight. He raised his hand, about to switch off the light, but hesitated, staring down the empty hallway. Then he simply walked to the last door, the bag still in his other hand. Bráulio opened and shut the door quickly, slamming it hard.
In another room, the creature lay motionless, tormented by hunger, aching. With difficulty, it dragged its limp body into a corner and waited.
This was the man's chamber. His belongings were here—the creature could feel it. Bráulio took his time, but when he finally appeared, he was no longer clothed. His breathing was rapid, and he seemed more exhausted than when he had first arrived home. He grunted and muttered something the monster couldn't make out. Bráulio stripped completely and went into the shower of his suite.
The pain of hunger grew with every passing hour. The monster already felt its movement slowing. It crept toward the bathroom when Bráulio's scream echoed through the room. As it began to slide beneath the bathroom door, it sensed something else—a heat radiating from within, a warmth tied to the human. The creature stopped, to feel. Empathy overtook it. Rage—that was the emotion.
The monster retreated to the bedroom, then crawled out, dragging itself toward the door at the end of the hallway. The empathy for the human, the rage it had just felt, now mingled with fear. These two emotions combined became fuel for the creature. They did not cure its pain, but they gave it strength.
When the monster entered the room at the end of the corridor, it possessed a crude vision. The interior glowed with dim yellow light. All the walls were padded with sponges. From the ceiling hung a set of ropes, and bound to them was a naked girl. She had been beaten—her skin was red in places, purple in others. Thin streams of blood ran down her thighs, back, and arms. Her legs were raised and spread, her wrists tied behind her, her body completely immobilized by the ropes that suspended her. She wore a blindfold and a gag. She looked dead. But she wasn't.
In one corner lay the bag Bráulio had carried home earlier. A few bottles of water and snacks spilled from it onto the floor.
Bráulio was not good. He was like the creature—he hunted and hurt. He was the same, and the creature did not devour its own kind. The girl suffering there was prey to another predator. She was the prize of another monster.
The creature left Bráulio's house solemnly. That was a dining hall that already had an owner.