Skitter was in someone else's house. Again.
He couldn't help it. He was just so
hungry. All the time, constantly--- it gnawed at him, creak creak creak, in the twisty wood of his trunk. His teeth ached, and his claws felt restless, and he gnawed his fingers just for some satisfaction, though it brought him none.
Before he met Dante, he did this a lot. Going into houses. Houses had food, and if there wasn't enough in the garbage, there was always more inside. He learned to open the locks with his claws. Dante said this was bad, Skitter had to stop. Dante knew a lot. And the house people were always screaming when they saw him. And things were okay for a while, after Dante found him, but now they were bad again, bad bad bad, and Skitter was hungry all the time. Dante too. Skitter didn't know how he could stand it.
Someone was screaming now.
Skitter turned, eyes baleful and wide in the glare of the flashlight, the remnants of a bone-in ham stuffed into his over-large maw.
He ran. He ran into the garbage. No one ever followed him there.