Gristle in the Walls — Apartment Infestation

Found-footage horror, 8 seconds, 16:9. A cramped apartment bedroom at night, filmed on a tenant's phone. For weeks there has been scratching in the walls; tonight the wall itself is bulging — the drywall bellied outward in a pulsing dome, paint cracking in a spreading web of fractures. 0-3 seconds: the tenant narrates in a low whisper, flashlight beam shaking as he prods the pulsing bulge with a broom handle; the dome dents and rebounds, something inside shifting with wet weight, the cracking paint ticking like ice. 3-6 seconds: the drywall splits with a wet crack — and out pours a flood of grubs: pale, segmented, each the size of a fist, writhing over each other in a living tide across the bedroom floor, moving with terrible purpose, streaming under the bed, up the baseboards, toward the tenant's bare feet; the camera jerks back, the narrator's breathing ragged. 6-8 seconds: in the ruptured cavity, something larger shifts — a segmented bulk, breathing, the grubs pouring from its seams — and a single huge eye, milky and lidless, opens in the dark of the cavity and fixes directly on the lens; the phone drops, the frame smashing to black on the floorboards. Craft: grubs with translucent segmented bodies, wet sheen, tiny black mandibles; bedroom dressed with unmade bed, peeling posters, scattered laundry. Camera: authentic shaky phone footage, harsh flashlight falloff, macro-close on the grub tide, abrupt drop ending. Lighting: single bedroom lamp against wall-cavity blackness, flashlight hotspot with deep shadows. Atmosphere: infestation apocalypse, revulsion, dread. Style: found-footage, handheld revulsion, macro grub detail, 30fps phone realism, no music.