The tension grew
The air in the kitchen felt heavier with every passing second. Martha’s arms shook violently as she struggled to keep the creature contained, the glass now trembling against her palm. The thing beneath was no longer just moving—it was thrashing. “George, do something!” she cried, her voice cracking from the strain and rising panic.
George’s eyes darted around the room, his mind scrambling for options. Then he grabbed a thick kitchen towel and placed it over the glass, leaning his full weight on top of it alongside Martha. “Just a bit longer,” he whispered, voice low and urgent. Martha gave a small nod, but inside, her thoughts were screaming. Each second stretched into forever, her nerves nearing the breaking point.
Advertisements
Advertisements