The Shifting Canvas

In the quiet of a child's bedroom, a drawing hung, innocent and bright,

upon the wall. A simple crayon family, smiling under a bright yellow sun.

Harmless, or so it seemed. But as days turned into nights,

a subtle unease began to creep into the silence. Each morning, the art shifted.

The sun in the drawing now had a faint, dark smudge. One stick figure's

smile stretched unnaturally, its once-bright eyes now hollow, staring. The innocent scene

warped, limbs beginning to twist, smiles contorted into silent screams.

The air in the room grew heavy, a cold presence seeping from the