Mrs. Chen’s perfectly manicured nails drummed against her mahogany desk as she examined the peculiar pet bed that had arrived that morning. The velvet covering was an unusual shade of purple - not the royal purple she had ordered for her beloved Siamese cat, but rather a sickly, bruised hue that made her stomach turn.

“Strange,” she murmured, running her finger along the ornate brass studs adorning the rim. “I don’t recall selecting these details.”

Her cat, normally eager to claim any new sleeping spot, kept its distance. Its blue eyes were fixed on the bed, tail twitching nervously.

“What’s wrong, darling? Don’t you like your new bed?” Mrs. Chen cooed, but the cat only backed further away.

That night, she dreamed of suffocating purple velvet and tarnished brass that seemed to whisper. When she awoke, her silk pajamas were drenched in sweat, and her cat was nowhere to be found.

“Have you seen my cat?” she asked her housekeeper, Ms. Wang, the next morning.

“No, madam. But that new bed…” Ms. Wang hesitated, her weathered face creasing with concern. “There’s something not right about it. Last night, while cleaning, I heard… noises.”

“Noises?” Mrs. Chen raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Like… breathing. Coming from inside it.”

Mrs. Chen laughed, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

That evening, as shadows lengthened across her apartment’s polished floors, Mrs. Chen noticed dark stains appearing on the velvet - spreading like ink blooming in water. She reached out to touch one and recoiled as it felt warm, almost pulsing beneath her fingers.

“This is absurd,” she told herself, but her voice trembled.

The phone rang, startling her. It was the boutique where she’d ordered the bed.

“Mrs. Chen?” a nervous voice said. “About your order… there’s been a terrible mistake. The bed you received… it wasn’t meant for sale. It belonged to the previous shop owner who… who died rather mysteriously. We need to retrieve it immediately.”

Mrs. Chen turned to look at the bed, but the words died in her throat. The brass studs were moving, rotating slowly like watching eyes, and the velvet rippled as if something underneath was trying to break free.

Her cat’s collar lay in the center of the bed, the bell silent.

“Mrs. Chen? Are you there? Whatever you do, don’t—”

The line went dead.

In the sudden silence, she heard it - a soft, wet sound, like something breathing beneath layers of putrid velvet. The brass studs gleamed in the dying light, and Mrs. Chen realized, with dawning horror, that they were arranging themselves into a smile.