Writing Prompt / Story Starter 23

The door slammed shut and Joey was alone in the cellar, the damp wood of the stairs beneath him; the cold, crumbling brick against his back; the darkness seemed to coat his eyes in thick, black ink.

He stopped crying; instantly. Once the door was shut, it wasn't wise to cry. It wasn't wise to make any noise at all, because, as always, something had arrived with the darkness. Joey could hear it, panting, growling, pacing, somewhere at the bottom of the stairs