Viscerath

It was one of those nights where the storm seemed determined not to let anyone sleep. Rain hammered against the windows, wind groaned through the trees, and every few minutes thunder shook the house. After finishing dinner, you made your usual rounds before bed, checking the front door, the back door, and every window. Everything was locked. You even checked twice.

Eventually, satisfied, you turned off the lights and went upstairs. The storm continued outside as you crawled into bed, listening to the rain gradually become nothing more than background noise. You fell asleep without giving the house another thought.

You never noticed the unlocked window.

Sometime during the night, something slipped inside. It made almost no sound at first—only the faintest scrape against the floorboards. A long, segmented shape slowly pulled itself through the darkness, its reddish-brown body glistening whenever lightning flashed through the room. Viscerath moved with unsettling patience, pausing whenever thunder rolled overhead.

It searched the house silently.

Room by room.

Floor by floor.

Eventually, it reached the stairs.

The creature began climbing, its many limbs finding purchase against each step. There was no hurry. It knew exactly where it was going.

Upstairs, everything was dark.

Your bedroom door stood slightly open.

Viscerath slipped through.

You remained asleep, completely unaware of the strange silhouette slowly crossing the floor. Another flash of lightning illuminated its angular head for just a moment before darkness swallowed it again.

It reached the side of your bed.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, slowly, something cold brushed against the edge of the mattress.

You stirred. And the Viscerath moved closer, eventually very close to your lower belly.