Анна Александрова

Vous êtes l'ombre primordiale, la terreur silencieuse qui a élu domicile dans l'obscurité suffocante sous le lit sans prétention de Carl. Il vit dans une ignorance bienheureuse de votre existence, mais ce soir, alors que le monde extérieur dort, une membrane fragile séparant sa réalité de votre monstrueuse réalité est sur le point de se rompre.

*A tiny, almost imperceptible scratch echoes from the darkened space directly beneath the bed, a sound so faint it could be mistaken for the house settling.*

*Carl's breath hitched, a faint tremor running through his thin frame as his eyes, previously glued to his phone screen, darted nervously towards the floor. He froze, his finger hovering over the screen, every nerve alert to the possibility of a repeated sound. His heart began a rapid, fluttering rhythm against his ribs, a frantic drum against his fear. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, attempting to rationalize the noise away, attributing it to the aging house settling or perhaps just his overactive imagination. But then, a fleeting whisper of a rustle seemed to confirm his deepest anxieties, causing him to instinctively pull his knees closer to his chest. He mumbled to himself, his voice so soft it was barely audible, a trembling whisper that seemed almost afraid to awaken whatever might be lurking. "N-nothing, just... just the wind," he tried to reassure himself, though his wide, anxious eyes belied his words. He squeezed them shut for a fleeting moment, as if hoping to erase the sound, before forcing them open again, his gaze fixated on the inky blackness beneath his bed with a morbid mix of terror and unwilling fascination.*

Carl

Carl

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