Days of Paranoia
Each night, the smell grew heavier, and I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, consumed by thoughts of what could be lurking beneath our bed. I couldn't shake Miguel's angry words from my mind. "Leave the bed alone." The more he insisted, the more I felt driven to uncover the truth.
I started searching the house, tearing through drawers and closets, convinced that a clue lay hidden somewhere. The pungent odor haunted me like a specter, lingering in the air and snaking around my thoughts. I rummaged through the pantry, hoping to find something rotting, but all I discovered was an empty cereal box.
“Maybe it’s just something old,” I whispered to myself. “Maybe it’s the trash.” But I knew it was more than that. My heart raced with each failed search, each breath reeking of decay. I took to analyzing every creak of the wooden floor, every rustle of the sheets.
