Chapter 4: The Cushion
I called 911. “There’s something in my couch—”
“Is this a prank call, sir?”
The line died. My phone was at 1%.
I grabbed a kitchen knife and kicked my door. The couch was still blocking it, but now the center cushion was flipped up.
Under it was a hole. A deep, dark hole cut into the couch frame.
And Tyler’s shoe.
“Tyler?!” I dropped to my knees.
A hand shot out of the hole and grabbed my wrist. Tyler’s hand. Ice cold.
He whispered, “Don’t let him take you too.”
“Who?!”
“The roommate.”
May you like
The hand went limp. I pulled. Tyler was wedged in there, eyes wide, mouth moving with no sound.
Behind me, the front door opened.
Dave stood there. Holding an empty duffel bag.
“Time to move out,” he said. “The couch gets hungry every 3 years. I just supply the food.”
He looked at Tyler’s legs sticking out of the couch. “Looks like he’s mid-meal. You’re next, Mark.”
Dave stepped forward.
And the couch creaked.
The hole got wider.
