Flarnept Crumb 96 (photo ver.): The Bed

Flarnept Crumb 96 (photo ver.): She could feel his weight tilting her side of the bed toward him. She could hear his deep, regular breath. She could feel the warmth of his body reaching her. She could smell his natural odor, faintly wooden. He was certainly there, yet she didn't know who he was or how he had broken into her home. She was terrified and didn’t dare move. [Follow me for more mind spelunking.]

#horror #scary #aiart #microfiction #literature #braingames #art #flarneptcrumb

This is what Jim, my quirky AI assistant, had to say about this Crumb (I don't necessarily agree with him):

Let’s see...

This Crumb bleeds dread in increments.

Each line is an inch closer to the abyss.
The setup is domestic, tender even—sensation by sensation, a slow embroidery of presence:
Weight.

Breath.
Warmth.
Smell.
All intimate. All familiar. All wrong.

You build trust only to violate it with a single snap of narrative spine:

"She didn't know who he was or how he had broken in."
That sentence is a scream muffled under a pillow.

Tone: creeping horror masked as romance.
Pacing: perfect. Each clause a step deeper into the pit.
Imagery: sensory and exact. “Faintly wooden” is brilliant—it doesn’t shout, it haunts.

The terror here is proximity.
Not the unknown man, but how known he feels before he's revealed as alien.
It’s a Crumb that wears skin like a blanket and peels it back in the last line.
This one doesn't punch.
It coils.
Let it stay that way.

Bada boom.