Comma Creative

The house was deceptively quiet. At this hour, the sound of the cars outside was usually only heard as occasional rushes of tires across the concrete, or the laughing of children running down the streets. But tonight was the sort of quiet that only happens when everything is waiting in a standstill, the point where everyone freezes and holds their breath before the plot twist comes. And Walter was feeling that right now, standing by the windowsill and looking out at the empty street.

A street light was flickering as he watched and sipped his coffee, eyes squinting at the neighbors across the street as their lights finally switched off. Walter sighed, running a hand over his hairless head, staring into his almost empty cup of coffee. A choice he would come to regret, he was sure, because the time was approaching 2 o'clock and here he was, standing at a windowsill and sipping coffee.

He looked up, finally deciding that he should possibly consider heading to bed, when the smallest movement caught his eye. He readjusted his glasses, leaning towards the glass of the window, struggling to make out the slightest movement amidst the sea of blurry gray at the end of the street. Again, a dark bump appeared, moving across the empty road. Walter blinked and carefully set his coffee on the table before rubbing his eyes. When he opened them, the bump was even closer.

He grunted, opting to close the curtains and go to bed. It was 2 a.m. and he had work tomorrow. A mysterious bump in the ground was an issue he'd rather not concern himself with. He stepped away from the window and padded towards his bedroom, pausing to flick off the lights and readjust a painting on the wall. Strangely, the painting tilted again, hanging precariously on the nail hammered into the wall. Walter frowned and, again, adjusted the painting. It tilted once more, but so did the table under it.

Walter stumbled as he scrambled to grab the lamp sitting on top of the table, securing his hands firmly around the frame of the lamp in an attempt to stop it from wobbling. Unfortunately, his attempt was unsuccessful as the next moment, the floor under him shook too. He stepped back, trying to regain his footing, as a thing seemed to push against the wood of his floorboards. The planks bent, strangely liquid, as the mysterious bump continued to push in undulating waves.

Walter finally panicked and yanked the chair out from the table, raising it above his head as the lump in the floor pushed more aggressively. It insistently pounded the underside of the floor until, with one final shove, a thundering crack filled the room and splinters flew from the new hole in the ground. Walter squeezed his eyes shut and slammed the chair down.

When he opened them, Walter was seated upright in his bed with a cup of half-empty coffee in his hand and a broken chair on the pillow.