Whoever picks the photos for these things is clearly, albeit probably coincidentally, getting into the Halloween spirit.
Look at the shiny bits, glistening with the juice of flesh. Look at those jagged, rough edges, the clear striation of muscle. Look at those hard knobs of gristle.
The question is, what particular horror does this bed hold? Is it that this bed is a monster, ready to open a gaping maw and pounce? Or its sheer existence, this sessile lump of eternally exposed nerves, this paean to pain?
(srsly, though, does this or does this not look more like a stack of butcher’s counter odds and ends than bedding? What the hell, Wayfair?)