Within the Nest of Moths

A loaded antique shotgun sleeps in a wooden box. Said box is buried inside a humid closet with only moths alive. Inside this childhood home, a monster roams around. That hated monster is the only thing that traps me inside. Cowering within the nest of moths, I eye the buried box. Muffle growls shake the closet door. This is the fourth pass the monster has made. The closet is the only place the monster hasn't checked. Scrambling towards the wooden coffin, I pry it open. Awaken shotgun in hand, I point it at the closet door. The door opens. BANG!

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