He awoke to cold, slick oil dripping onto his forehead and the feeling that hundreds of eyes were staring at him. The damned thing must have gotten out again somehow. No matter how many locks he installed, how many puzzles and playthings he left inside its container it always wanted to just sit and stare at him, usually from its preferred vantage point - the ceiling.
It's been leaking oil ever since its first escape and the ensuing fire, brief chaos, minor run-in with the law and their threat to end its life. Minor disfiguration, aside it had been quite the adventure and was all the town could talk about for the next week or so. Now they just used it as a scary bedtime story to keep their children in bed through the night.
Meanwhile he had to triple his efforts to keep it contained - it had tasted the salty tang of his fear and it was hooked right away. He always reasoned that eventually it would realise that he wasn't afraid of it in its present state, he was afraid of it growing up and developing into the same nightmarish Goliaths that lingered around the mountain passages.
He just needed more time to study it, find its weaknesses and figure out a way to exploit them enough that they stopped being threats.
All he ever wanted was more time but now as he rounds the corner leading to the greenhouse he finds himself staring straight into its shifting cluster of eyes. For the first time in as long as he can remember, it's on the floor, crouched and still staring at him - always staring at him.
He never heard the one behind him.
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