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The night was especially silent, almost unearthly. As the poet lay in his bed, the gentle sounds of crickets and distant fluttering lulled him into a deep sleep.
Suddenly, a deafening roar woke him, shaking the walls of his room.
Disoriented, he got up and walked to the window. Outside, a thick fog had covered the entire neighbourhood, hiding any sign of life.
That's when he heard it: a chilling humming sound that seemed to come from all directions at once.
The poet felt a shiver run down his spine as he recognised the terrifying sound.
It was wings, millions of wings beating in unison in eerie synchronicity.
Quickly, she closed the curtains and turned on all the lights in the house, refusing to believe what her ears were telling her.
Suddenly, a deafening pounding began to echo off the walls, as if thousands of creatures were trying to break through.
The poet ran to hide in the cellar, covering his ears so as not to hear the terrifying sounds around him.
There, in the darkness, he began to write frantically, pouring all his terror and despair onto paper.
The words flowed from his pen as if they were the only defence against the terrifying threat lurking outside.
When the noises finally ceased, the poet emerged from his hiding place, trembling with fear.
On the walls, he found traces of a slimy substance and dark stains that appeared to be.... wings?
He decided not to find out, for his poem of terror was already complete, inspired by the most terrifying night of his life.
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