The Empty Room

by Jane Worthington

The room was empty—no windows, no sound—just silence. In its center sat a single item: a beautiful, fluffy pillow, perfectly plump, glowing faintly in the stillness like a dream with feathers. No one knew who had placed it there or why, but it had never been moved, never gathered dust, never lost its shape. Some who'd entered said it whispered to them, others said it hummed lullabies only their childhood selves could recognize. One man tried to sleep on it and woke with tears streaming down his face, unable to recall the dream but certain he had seen someone he missed. The room remains locked now—not out of fear, but reverence.

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Jane Worthington is a writer and teacher who spends most of her days in Brattleboro, Vermont.