The longer I stared, the less sense it made.
The movement wasn’t smooth or fluid like I imagined a snake would be. It was jerky. Uneven. Almost desperate. Whatever it was seemed to be pushing forward, then stopping, then pushing again.
Only part of it was visible.
Something thin extended from the crack in the wall, twitching slightly. The rest was hidden inside. My mind raced, inventing possibilities far worse than reality usually is.
I felt a wave of fear mixed with revulsion — that deep, instinctive reaction you get when you think you’re witnessing something unnatural, something you were never meant to see.
I wanted to scream.
At the same time, I wanted to back away slowly, close the door, and pretend the moment had never happened.
Looking Closer, Even When You Don’t Want To
Against my better judgment, I took a cautious step closer.
My legs felt unsteady, but curiosity and concern pulled me forward. As I leaned in, my fear shifted slightly. The movement looked less threatening and more… strained.
That’s when I realized something important.
Whatever was in the wall wasn’t trying to get in.
It was trying to get out.
The shape became clearer. Small. Scaled. Not a snake at all.
It was a lizard.
More specifically, a skink.
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