The Unmade Bed

Every night, she meticulously made her bed, a ritual for peace.

Tonight, it felt different. The quiet was thick, heavy,

like the air before a storm. A stillness that was unnatural. A tiny detail,

easily overlooked. But in the silence, it screamed of a presence.

Then, the quiet shattered. The careful order of her world, violently undone.

Not a person. Something else. Something that reveled in disruption. And it was

still in the room, waiting.