There is a place, a place that’s spoken about in hushed tones, almost a myth amongst house folk.
It’s a place that lost things gravitate to: remotes, keys, coins, and utensils.
A place that may hold the secrets of the universe, of existence itself.
It’s also a place where stay food goes, dirty socks, and dead things.
That place is called the UNDER-CUSHION.
Lift any lounge cushions up and you’ll find a hidden world, where all lost things of through, where all food eventually ends up, where horror itself dwells.
Do it if you dare.