Mr. Lovely lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. One arm rested behind his head, the other draped loosely across his chest. The rough cotton sheet was pulled up just past his ribs, leaving his shoulders exposed to the cool air drifting through the room. He listened to the sounds of the forest beyond the thin walls of the farmhouse- the low hiss of the wind slipping through the trees, the occasional distant groan of wood settling in the cold.
It was a deep, living silence out there. Not the restless noise of the city- the sirens, the shouting, the endless hum of too many people packed too close together. He thought about the streets he'd left behind. The flashing lights. The constant pressure. The way he could never quite breathe deeply without choking on the exhaust and the heating, the anger that seemed to radiate from every concrete surface.
Here, it was different. The air was cold and clean. The world was still. The darkness outside wasn't broken by headlights or neon sign- it pressed against the house like a living thing. Mr Lovely shifted slightly, the old mattress creaking beneath him. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the unfamiliar quiet wrap around him. But sleep wouldn't come.
Something in that silence gnawed at the edges of his mind. something wrong. He opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling. In the dimness, the familiar shape of the wooden beams overhead blurred slightly, as if the room itself was breathing with the forest outside. A faint knock echoed in the hallway once. Twice. Mr. Lovely stiffened, lifting his head slightly off the pillow. The knock came again- softer this time, almost questioning.
He waited, listening hard, but no footsteps followed. No creak of the floorboards. No voices. After a long minute, he let his head fall back onto the mattress, trying to convince himself it was just the house settling. Old wood, old nails-they moved with the cold, didn't they? He pulled the sheet up a little higher on his chest.
Outside the window, the mist had thickened, pressing against the glass like heavy, oily smoke. For a moment, just a flicker- he thought he saw something move beyond the trees. A dark figure stood perfectly still at the forest's edge. He blinked. The figure was gone. Or maybe it had never been there at all. Mr.Lovely let out a slow breath and closed his eyes again, but the chill in the room had sunk into his bones.
Sleep remained a distant thing, unreachable. Somewhere deep in the woods, something unseen shifted through the mist- slow, patient, waiting.