I was walking through my living room one quiet evening when something on the floor caught my eye. At first, I didn’t even realize what it was. It lay motionless, blending strangely with the muted colors of the carpet. At a glance, it looked almost harmless—like a piece of bright green plant, perhaps a torn-off part of one of my house vines, or maybe even a child’s toy that had fallen from the table.

Curiosity got the better of me. I stood over it, trying to figure out what exactly had landed in my path. Its shape was too smooth to be a plant fragment. The color was far too bright, almost fluorescent in the lamplight. And the small protrusions on the sides—those “horns”—looked unnaturally symmetrical, as if mThen, without warning, the object shivered. My heart leapt into my throat.

I froze, instinctively holding my breath, unsure if my mind was playing tricks on me. The movement became more pronounced—it wasn’t just a twitch. The thing began to crawl.olded from plastic rather than grown. I bent slightly, peering closer, my brow furrowed in concentration.