I Went Into the Garage Just to Grab an Old Toolbox

I only went in for a toolbox.

That’s all.

A quick trip — two minutes, tops — to grab a wrench or screwdriver my husband had used last weekend.

The garage was his domain.

Organized chaos, yes — but his chaos.

Mine was the kitchen, the laundry room, the grocery list.

The garage? That dim, dusty corner of our home felt like another world — one I rarely entered.

But that morning, something pulled me in.

Not urgency.

Not curiosity.

Just… a quiet insistence, like the house itself whispered: Go look.

And so I did.

🕳️ What I Saw in the Corner

At first, I thought it was junk.

An old tarp. A forgotten insulation pad. Maybe a bird’s nest someone never cleaned out.

But then it moved.

Tiny, skittering motions beneath a thick, fibrous crust — grayish-white, webbed, pulsing almost like breath.

I stepped closer.

The air turned cold.

My skin prickled.

And then I saw it: