"Claaang...! Clawing...! Claaag...!"
The sounds came sharp and irregular, echoing through the room like metal scraping against itself. The air felt like it was being sucked out—tight and twisted, like something slithering through the walls. It hissed against the glass-paneled window, pressing hard enough to make the frame tremble.
The wooden sill creaked, the old screws and bolts giving a soft, high-pitched whine. A faint shimmer spread across the windowsill—reflected light bouncing off the glass as the surface below caught the glow.
Outside, the noise moved through the grass like a ripple, unsettling and deliberate. Grass blades fluttered away morning dew droplets that adhered to their tips and rubbed against each other as if propelled by an unseen force. The ground itself seems to respond to tension, alert, cautious, and sensitive. Horrible hums began to grow into a rustling symphony in the treetops, causing startled birds to shake off their perches and scatter into the air.
"Fluff—fluff—fluff—fluff!"
The sound of wings fluttering quickly reverberated across the area, crisp and rhythmic like the snap of soft cotton in the breeze. A flurry of leaves spun downward as they suddenly moved. For a minute, the birds lingered in free space, hovering like dancers defying gravity, their wings beating in smooth, siren-like pulses as they twitched in midair, graceful but nervous.
Some grabbed for neighboring branches, their small bodies adapting with practiced ease, their tiny three-toed claws curling. The clouds were streaked with deep blue feathers, some with tiny black lines around their necks like clock hands, and the sky was bursting with color. Their bodies painted the morning sky in quick action and silent astonishment as others shimmered with mixtures of yellow, green, and soft gray.
"Whuff—whuff!"
The roosters flapped their wings in sudden bursts, responding to the stir above them. Their feathers rippled in unison with the birds overhead, while the sharp clinking of a distant bell rang out and spiraled through the thin morning air, reaching into the corners of nearby huts.
They were startled and scurried across the yard, slamming into each other with wild vigor, like haphazard soldiers plunging into disarray. Their bodies met in awkward rhythms, their claws scraped the arid ground, and their beaks shattered. A group of them began short flights and rapid hops, their wings flapping noisily as the air moved once again, turbulent and stirring. Their feathers sliced the wind in steady beats, creating a rough, collective sound that filled the yard like the rustle of leaves before a storm, and a deep whoosh developed around them.
"Mmmrrh..."
Deep and purposeful, like a tug at something invisible, a low, guttural grunt rolled across the air. The cows stopped chewing in the midst, their jaws locked, and jerked their hefty heads towards the disturbance. Their wide eyes gazed at the shifting air and the restless roosters as if some fundamental instinct had been awakened. There was another grunt, louder this time, and others joined in spurts. They had a pattern to their shouts, almost like warnings being relayed down the line. Every lowing became louder, resonating like distant drums across the meadows.
The thick grass crunched softly beneath the cows' hooves, muffled under their weight. It wasn't just movement—it was like the land itself was listening, bracing. The sound, though subtle, carried a strange finality, adding to the tension steadily tightening in the air.
Inside, the room absorbed the growing symphony from outside. The walls seemed to hum faintly as the air pushed inward, as if the sounds were knocking from beyond. He shifted in his sleep, his body rolling from side to side, pressing deeper into the foam mattress. With each turn, the hidden springs beneath groaned and compressed—dull squeaks, creaks, and the occasional twang cutting through the stillness.
At first, the movement was slow and idle. But then, as if something had disturbed him from within, the turning grew quicker, more restless. The bed responded with sharper complaints, repeating the same strained sounds in a loop, a mechanical rhythm echoing the unease seeping.
His body stirred, slowly rousing from sleep. One arm jerked toward his ear, swatting lazily at the sharp cries of farm animals and birds slicing through the morning air. The foam mattress dipped under the sudden pressure, sinking slightly beneath him—like the earth dented by a meteorite's strike. Then, as his weight shifted back, the bed rebounded gently, causing a soft bounce that faded with a faint, layered tunk... squeak.
Through the patterned windowpane, streaks of morning dew refracted the rising light into scattered shapes across the room. The brightness crept toward him, brushing his face. His eyes twitched in protest, lids fluttering open just enough to reveal pupils that struggled to adjust, slow and unfocused in the glare. His lips parted slightly—dry, faintly cracked from the night's silence—while the skin beneath his eyes appeared puffy and creased, molded by the rough texture of the bedding.
His brow tightened—not from any deep thought, but as a reflex, a quiet resistance against the piercing clangs and rustling noises beyond the walls. His body hadn't fully awakened, but the world around him had already begun to intrude.
A tacky, uncomfortable stickiness clung to his waist and chest—residue from the night before, dried and stubborn where it had soaked into the foam beneath him. The fabric stuck to his skin slightly, pulling as he shifted. He grimaced but didn't fully register it yet; his body was still catching up with consciousness.
Then, without thought, his mouth stretched wide in a slow, instinctive yawn. The skin around his cheeks drew tight, pulling upward as his jaw creaked faintly, cracking just enough to send a dull ache through the muscles near his ears. His eyes clenched shut—not from sleep, but from the sheer stretch of the motion.
A sound rumbled out of him—low and deep, caught somewhere in his chest. It was half-sigh, half-groan, like the slow deflation of a balloon let loose without care. As the yawn peaked, his shoulders hunched upward and his arms lifted above his head in a sluggish stretch, joints popping quietly in protest.