One little, two little, three little scratches,
Upon the cellar door first one, then two gnashes,
Till the little lithe scratching
Forms a deafening roar,
Till a little black claw finds its way through the door.

They pour in like molasses, though nothing as sweet, hungry for flesh, for that carrion, meat. And as they approach me all set to devour, they find my dead bloated corpse all covered in flour.

When I came to this cellar, I was hardly prepared, within the first day all my rations were bare, I ate piss mixed with flour as long as it would sustain, after a week of the diet it got to my brain.
Rather then seek outside help, half mad, I rolled round in the flour and it mixed with my sweat. After two weeks my liver and kidneys just failed, I was too tired to fight it, malnourished and frail.

When they came back for me, after devouring the world, you wouldn't believe me if I told you they said it...

'This ones delicious, I wish they all came breaded'