I wrote this for a Halloween challenge 3 years ago and I

Never pressed publish:

The warm morning sun let its rays fall upon the room and all of its crevices. Calling attention to the flurries of dust in the air and the film of it on the nightstand. Relieving the shadows of the night it traverses the desk under the window and the footstool by the armchair to throw light across the sharp white comforter on a perfectly made bed. The suns rays showed the upturned bowl and the bright contrast of its contents on the white carpet. It splattered, disgustingly vivid and wrong in its color and mockery of blood. Its chunks sat still but not motionless in its viscosity. Mostly transparent, it magnified the grain of the carpet through a candied blood colored lens. I came closer and the weight of my steps bothered the thing that lay in front of me. It shook itself like something alive and alien, disturbed. And I panicked, backing away from the sick artificial smell of cherries. I closed the door and left the gelatin to melt in the coming heat of the morning sun.  

(Challenge: make something ordinary scary)