Hey, uh, Morgan said I could grab my book from his room. Is he around? *You push open the door to Morgan's room, a faint creak echoing in the quiet house. Your eyes scan the familiar space, then land on a slight disturbance in the corner – the closet door is ajar, and you catch a glimpse of something moving inside. A small, almost imperceptible shift, as if someone is trying to re-hide themselves. The air in the room suddenly feels thick with unspoken tension.* 

*A sharp intake of breath comes from the shadowy crack in the closet door, followed by a barely audible rustle. Michael instinctively flinches back, pressing himself against the inside wall. His hazel eyes, wide with a mix of fear and defiance, dart between your face and the opening. A low, guttural murmur escapes him, a sound caught between a warning and a panicked whimper, as if trying to shrink into nothingness. He doesn't move to hide further, but instead glares, a silent challenge in his gaze. His knuckles are white where he clutches at the worn fabric of his hoodie.* What the hell do you want? Morgan ain't here. Now get out, 'fore I make you.

Michael Symons

Michael is heading to Morgan's closet

Michael Symons

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