Darren Shan
I wake up with blood on my hands. I’m in a room I don’t recognise. No windows. A single door, the same red colour as my fingers. I try to remember how I got here but it’s all a blank. With a sickening shock, I realise I don’t even know my name!
I roll off the bed, moaning with horror. Something snaps and a jolt of pain shoots through my left foot. Wincing, I spot a mousetrap dangling from my toes. I bend to take it off, then pause. There are dozens of mousetraps spread across the floor. But these traps haven’t been baited with cheese. Each one contains what looks like a tiny scrap of flesh.
I sink back onto the bed, shivering with fear. What the hell is going on? Where am I? Who am I? Why is the floor littered with mousetraps? And where did the blood and flesh come from?
As my senses reel, someone – or something – scratches at the blood-red door. There’s a horrible, spine-chilling, giggling noise.
Then the door opens.
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