It had been days since Paul had heard anyone’s voice. The wolves searching for food and companionship were the only noises echoing through the air. Days and night’s passed without any concept of time. The only opening was a hole that was just large enough for Paul to fit his head through.

Outside, the cool and crisp air of the daytime would give way to the frigid and dry stillness of the night. Inside the oversized wooden crate was a fleece throw and a ladel with a large extension. Paul would use the ladel to retrieve a small cups worth of water from the nearby water bowl that also had managed to gather leaves and pine needles. The rear of the crate had a small opening that was used as a drainage point for any personal waste from Paul. The stench coming from the hole was putrid and the smell of urine and feces would have been overwhelming for any other individual. Paul had grown accustomed to it after several days inside the crate.

Day in and day out, the old man would return to the crate. He would greet Paul and proceed to pour a few cups worth of water into the bowl after clearing the leaves. Never speaking more than a few words, he would check the chains that secured the crate. After which, he would stand and smile, making sure that Paul would see him. Almost as if he was taunting Paul. Every day was the same routine. Each day ending with a stare down of silence and a smile that would eat into Paul’s mind.

After two weeks of the smiling old man’s visits, hunger began to overcome Paul. He knew that the old man would have trouble reaching him once the snow began to fall and the visible path back to the crate was covered. Paul had no eaten anything since had awoken inside the crate and the ravenous feeling was becoming too strong. It was in these overwhelming moments of hunger that Paul had devised a plan.

The following day as the old man made his way to the crate, Paul layed motionless inside. Thinking that Paul had potentially succomb to his hunger, the old man grabbed a fallen stick and began to poke around inside, jabbing into the sides of the motionless Paul. Standing with the biggest grin on his face, the old man began to unlock the chains from around the crate.

”You’re going to make a great broth. It’s a shame there’s not much meat left but at least we got rid of the fat.” the old man smirked as he continued to free the chains from the crate.

”You definitely lasted alot longer than those others though. I think I’ll save you for spring.” joked the old man to himself.

As the smiling old man lifted the lid and began to peer inside, Paul quickly lunged forward, gripping the old man’s neck and tearing his esophagus from his body. The old man fell over, coughing and squirting blood in every direction as his heart continued to feed the artery in his throat. As he laid on the leave covered ground, gasping for air and gurgling on his own blood, his eyes moved towards the crate opening.

There at the top of the crate sat Paul, ravenous from smell of blood and lack of food. The old man, slowly bleeding out and searching for air, watched as Paul sat on the crate. Feasting on the esophagus of the old man, Paul looked down at him. Smiling, Paul began to lick the end of his fingers while the old man watched on in terror while his throat was being devoured in front of him.

Gasping his last and final breaths and all the while choking on his own blood, he stared at a now blood covered and smiling Paul.