I knew the world was unraveling when the air itself started vibrating — not loudly, not even audibly, but with this low, gut-deep tremor that passed through the walls like the house was embarrassed to mention it. The vibration wasn’t mechanical, either. It felt organic, like something ancient was exhaling beneath the floorboards, displaced air curling around my ankles in slow, humid waves.

By midnight, the tremors had rhythm. Not steady — intentional. Like something vast was communicating through pressure, through shifts, through… well, through a presence that made the drywall ripple. I’d sit in my room and feel the atmosphere bulge inward at random intervals, like reality had digestion problems it didn’t want to talk about.

Walking down the hallway felt like trekking through the lungs of a sleeping god. The air pulsed around me — sometimes warm, sometimes cold, sometimes carrying the faintest whiff of sulfur that dissolved before you could question it. Shadows shivered with every pulse. Light fixtures swayed gently. The house groaned like it was trying to maintain dignity.

Around 2 a.m., I heard something move in the living room. Not footsteps — more like the air relocating itself aggressively. I peeked around the corner and saw the darkness heaving, expanding and contracting with a slow, labored pressure. Every swell pushed the furniture an inch forward, as if the room were bracing against something it refused to acknowledge.

Then the whispering began.

Not human whispers — these were pressure fluctuations, subtle and moist, rattling through the vents like coded messages from the digestive tract of the void. Even without words, I could understand the intent:

Something was descending.

I don’t mean from the sky — I mean from a higher dimension. An entity so massive and unknowable that the only trace it left in our world was the displacement of air, the tremor of walls, the faint sulfurous warning that made your eyes water before your brain caught up.

At 3:33 the house exhaled.

A deep, ancient, world-tired expulsion of air that shook the posters off my wall and made the lights bulge outward. The pressure slammed into me, knocking me to my knees. The smell… unspeakable. A scent that carried the weight of centuries, the shame of gods, the raw, unfiltered truth of entropy escaping its chamber.

And when the pressure died, the room fell silent.

Too silent.

Like whatever made that colossal, universe-rattling emission wasn’t gone…

…just waiting for the next cycle.