THE MONSTER UNDER MY BED... 🛌

The night was thick with silence as I lay in bed, heart racing. The only sound was the rhythmic tick of the old wall clock. I’d always loved the quiet of my village home, tucked away between whispering bamboo groves and wide, open fields. But that night? It felt different—almost suffocating, like the shadows in my room were pressing in on me.

A strange sensation crawled up my spine, a prickling feeling that something wasn’t right. My grandmother’s old stories about the monster under the bed flashed through my mind. A shadow with eyes that glowed like coals, watching you in the dark. I used to laugh at those stories, thinking they were just to scare kids into behaving. But lying alone in my room now, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something heavy, almost alive, in the air.

I lay still, listening hard, holding my breath. And then, I heard it—a faint whispering, twisted, like multiple voices whispering in unison, just under me. “You can’t hide…” they seemed to say. My heart slammed against my chest, faster and faster. Sweat started to crawl down my back, but I forced myself to focus, telling myself it was just the wind or the house settling, anything but what I feared.

I took a shaky breath and swung my legs out of bed. My feet hovered just above the cold wooden floor, the chill biting at my skin. I stared into the darkness beneath the bed, where the silence felt thick, alive, like it was waiting for something.

“Get a grip,” I muttered to myself, trying to calm down. I leaned forward, forcing my eyes to focus. “If there’s something there, show yourself!”

And then it came—a soft rustle, followed by a low, guttural growl that seemed to echo in my head, like a twisted lullaby. My blood ran cold. Was it real? Or had I let my fear take control?

I gathered what was left of my courage and knelt on the floor, heart pounding in my throat. I peered into the black void beneath the bed. At first, nothing. But then—eyes. Glowing like embers, wide, unblinking, locked onto me.

“Help…” The voice was raspy, like dry leaves scraping across the ground. “They won’t let me out…”

I stumbled back, gasping, my mind racing. “Who are you?” My voice barely rose above a whisper, the weight of fear crushing my chest.

“I was good once, just like you,” it murmured. “But I didn’t listen… I didn’t warn them. And now… I am trapped.”

Trapped. My grandmother’s warnings echoed in my mind, the ones I had laughed off. The monster wasn’t just a story—it was real. And now, I was part of it.

I felt a pull, like I should help—maybe it wasn’t the monster I feared, but some victim, someone who’d been lost there. But before I could decide, the eyes shifted. They narrowed, brightened, and the air grew colder.

“Join me,” it hissed. The wind howled through the room, rattling the windows, tugging at my hair. “You can become like me.”

My body went cold with terror. I scrambled back, away from the bed. “No! Get away from me!” I screamed, my voice desperate, frantic.

But when I glanced back, the floor wasn’t empty anymore. A twisting shape started to form—dark limbs stretching toward me, growing from the shadows like they had a life of their own.

I bolted upright, hearing the echoes of laughter, twisted and cruel, promising eternal company. I rushed for the door—but the handle wouldn’t turn. It spun in place, as if mocking me, laughter vibrating through the metal.

The shape under the bed inched closer, and that voice came again, cold and hollow: “Help me… Come play.”

With a final, panicked breath, I turned to face the thing creeping toward me, realizing with dread that this was only the beginning. As the monster lunged, I knew one thing for sure—some stories aren’t just stories. And some things do live beneath the bed.

And then, everything went dark.