Only later, after zoomed-in photos, online searching, and comparing images, did the truth sink in with almost embarrassing relief: it was just a dried piece of cooked meat, probably chicken, that had somehow ended up in the sheets. No monster, no infestation—just a forgotten scrap turned horror prop. The fear was real, the threat wasn’t. But that feeling of not knowing? That might haunt me longer than any actual bug ever could.
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