The Narrowing

Caleb stands paralyzed in the center of the room. He lifts a hand, fingers trembling, and presses his palm against the pale emulsion of the wall. *Touch.* His pupils dilate. "... Warm... unnaturally so..." The heat isn't radiating from the rusted electric heater huddled in the corner. It pulses from the deep marrow of the plaster itself. *Thump. Thump. Thump.* A subterranean rhythm vibrates through the drywall, bleeding into his fingertips. He jerks his hand back as if he’d grazed a hot stove. He fixates on the narrow gap between the heavy oak wardrobe and the corner of the room. Last night, that space could accommodate two fingers. Now, the wood groans. *Skreeeeee.* Cellulose fibers grind against each other under the relentless pressure of the encroaching wall. "... Another millimeter... it’s actually shrinking... the walls are closing in." Something shifts at the ceiling's edge. *Snap.* The sound of a hidden ligament tearing behind the floral wallpaper. Caleb holds his breath. Time curdles. *Rattle.* A weak, wet sound—the rasp of a man suffocating in a sealed chamber—drifts from a vertical fissure forming in the ceiling. *Sibilance.* Chalky dust descen…