A moth flies wildly around the bright lights of the
ceiling fan; it seems simply to be in one place, and then
another; it is still in its imperceptible movement.

Some imperceptible peculiarity in the angle of the right
corner of the room disproportionately attracts spiders
to it; several spiders linger, vaguely attached.

Silverfish-- the damnable creatures-- gather round at
their meeting place, a tattered piece of cloth.
They crumble, replaced by sand.

An old witch lives here-- her hair
one giant tangle. All sorts of creatures crawl in her
hair. This is the humble home they share.