Silently a figure made their way through the house. Pausing when the sounds in the living room suggested someone got up. Pushing the door open hardly made any sounds and carefully closing the door made sure no one heard.
The dishes were stacked in the sink and on the counter, they would not be bothered till the next day.
Carefully making way across the kitchen without a sound, and eyes fixated on the object of desire, the far end of the kitchen was reached.
Stretching an arm and tightly grabbing the handle to not let go.
The door opened with only a minor squeak and the lightbulb inside instantly shone brightly.
A hand reached in tentatively before it withdrew again.

“I’m so hungry,” a voice said while the eyes were going over all the deliciousness, some leftover cold chicken, a piece of pie, some custard and some labeled plastic containers.
‘Dinner was plentiful,’

“Maybe just a little bite, I’m still hungry.”
‘It’s not real hunger, it’s just having an appetite for a snack'

The hand hovered over the cold chicken before moving to the pie.
A quick glance around learned that the only one witnessing was a very judgemental cat.
“Stop staring, I’m doing nothing wrong.”

“Meow”

“You’re just annoyed you can’t get some chicken yourself, now hush.”
‘Awesome, talking to the cat like it’ll understand. Doing great there...’
“All right, what should I take? The pie sure was good. Always room for custard” going over the options, speaking as quietly as possible.

The slamming of a nearby door was startling but it was the bathroom door down the hall and no one entered the kitchen. With a sigh of relief the attention was centered back to the content in the haven of yumminess, the keeper of deliciousness, harbourer of fantastic leftovers.

One of the plastic containers got opened; some leftover salad. It was good but not as great as the pie or custard, or chicken. The other one contained some mashed potatoes, not the best to eat cold, that could be saved till breakfast. The others had some leftover ingredients to make the salad in the first container. With a chuckle the lid got placed on the container again.
“I’m not a rabbit, no greens for me.”
‘Greens are healthy though, wouldn’t be the worst choice. It would be a wiser choice than pie or custard.’

A little shiver of cold halted the inspection. “Should have taken a sweater.” got uttered hushed.
‘Or close the door and walk away, tummy is full and the sweet tooth doesn’t need to be filled, just close the door and walk away!’

The cat came closer and looked interested to the chicken.

“No back off, my chicken.”

“Meow.” a paw stretched to take a swing at the chicken.

“No, down, away.” Nudging the cat away, the door got closed quickly.

After a stare showdown the cat backed away offendedly and it started grooming itself.

Feeling victorious, the door to the fridge opened again. “Finally!”
Reaching, getting closer to the prize.

The door to the living room opened. “Can you grab another bottle of wine?” a voice shouted from the hallway.

With a deep sigh the door to the fridge closed again and the hand that almost had the little bite to eat grabbed the requested bottle instead.
‘Well darn...’

Death…

I sigh as I hear the voice echo through my head. Ever since I tried out one of those spells from that old book I found at the flea market, this voice speaks to me. And always in these unspecific nouns or verbs. What does it even mean with death?

Kill…

Kill? Kill what? That person standing next to me, waiting for the bus? That spider crawling on the pole? The pigeon eating some scraps from the street? Is this voice warning me that the pigeon will be killed by an incoming bus and be dead soon?

Kill…

The bus stops – luckily the pigeon managed to fly away just in time – and I enter it, taking place next to a lovely old woman, who smiles politely at me.

Murder…

What? Do I need to murder someone? Has that sweet old lady murdered someone? It’s possible of course, you never know what lurks behind an innocent appearance.
I ignore the voice as I always do. Sometimes it’s silent for a few hours, sometimes it says something every minute. It’s not bad though, I kinda like having a companion with me at all times, even though this one could work on its eloquence.
The voice stays silent during the bus ride. Maybe they’re enjoying the view. Maybe they’re scared of the old lady next to me. I don’t know, and I don’t really care either.

A few stops later I exit the bus and buy a hotdog before heading into the park. A man is walking his dog, or is the dog walking his owner?

Blood…

It’s ketchup really, I think to myself as I bite down in the hotdog. Maybe this entity has never seen ketchup before? I pity it if that’s the case.

Death…

Not only does it lack eloquence, its vocabulary if awfully limited. Maybe I can upgrade it with a second ritual, add some words it can use. Maybe I should have sacrificed more than my goldfish.

A pigeon swoops in and steals the last of my hotdog.

Murder…

Now I agree, that bloody bird deserves to be murdered. But, it is long gone now.

I get up and continue my walk through the park as I think back to the day this voice came to me. The ritual was actually rather simple: draw a symbol, sacrifice something (I really shouldn’t have picked that bloody goldfish), and say the words. It had gotten really dark for a moment and then I had heard it for the first time. And during the first hour it just wouldn’t shut up. Death, murder, blood, torture, kill, dismember. Either my goldfish had some deep resentment towards me, or this entity is just demanding things without telling me who or why or how. I don’t even like blood; it’s so sticky and it leaves terrible stains.

Now I am stuck with it, but it doesn’t do any harm. It’s good not living alone anymore; that goldfish was a lousy companion, this one talks at least.

Torture…

Sure, dude, I’ll torment my neighbour later and put on some loud music. Death metal?

Death…

I’m glad we agree.