The Softest Rule

Ms. Bedtime Sheep padded into the walk-in closet at Ten Star Hotel, her blue housecoat swishing like a curtain.

Darlene the deer sat on a pile of blankets, tapping at her phone. Grace the goat was folding socks into a neat tower. Stella the sheep was laughing because one hanger had somehow grabbed her tank top like a crab.

“Friday night rule,” Darlene said, grinning. “Keep it comfy, keep it classy.”

Ms. Bedtime Sheep hooked a charger into the wall. “If the hotel Wi‑Fi crashes again, I am filing a heroic complaint.”

Grace tilted her head toward the walk-in shower. “Do you hear that?”

A thin mechanical hum slipped through the hallway, followed by a little puff of cool air.

Darlene lowered her voice. “New add-on. Turbo Towel. Supposed to dry you fast.”

The closet door gave a tiny rattle, like it was nervous

Air With Bad Manners

The closet door rattled again, then banged like someone was kicking it.

Darlene the deer jumped up, her green sleep shirt flapping. “Okay. That is not a tiny breeze.”

Grace the goat grabbed the sock tower. “If this is the new dryer, I hate it already.”

The door burst open. A roar of air rushed in and sucked hangers off the rod. Stella the sheep squeaked as a blanket slapped her face.

Ms. Bedtime Sheep shot into the hall, her blue housecoat snapping behind her like a flag.

“Stay low!” she called.

Grace crawled and hugged the socks like a rescued pet. Stella clung to the closet frame. Darlene slid on her knees after Stella’s phone as it skittered across the floor.

The wind grew meaner. A framed hotel sign wobbled. The hallway carpet peeled up like a curling ribbon.

“Elevator!” Ms. Bedtime Sheep said.

She flew toward the walk-in shower. At the entrance, a silver towel bar hummed. A tiny screen blinked: TURBO: 10.

The air yanked her forward.