SHORT FICTION HORROR

What’s that on the floor?

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Four-year-old Luca lay curled up in his small bed, cocooned beneath three blankets with an unzipped sleeping bag sprawled haphazardly on top. The early morning air was cold, and the dim, gray light from the hallway window cast long shadows that danced along the walls of his room. Outside, the faint sound of wind through the trees whispered like a faraway voice.

Luca squirmed under his fortress of warmth, trying to reach the edge of the sleeping bag with his tiny hand. It had slipped off the bed, dragging most of the warmth with it. He gave the fabric a determined tug, expecting it to slide up easily.

It didn’t budge.

Confused, he pulled harder. Still, nothing. A wave of terror started to rise, but then came a feeling that was even colder than the room itself — a creeping unease that pricked at his skin like tiny needles. Slowly, as if afraid to confirm what his heart was already whispering, Luca peeked over the edge of the bed.

There it was.