I Think There’s Someone Under My Bed
Ever since childhood, I’ve always dreaded what might be hiding beneath my bed. The faint creak of the floorboards, the way the shadows twist in the glow of a nightlight, and the occasional whisper of wind brushing against the window — all of it seemed to come alive after dark. As I grew older, I dismissed those fears as childish imagination. Monsters, after all, weren’t real. At least, that’s what I told myself.
But last night, something happened that made me question that belief. I had just turned off the lights and settled beneath the covers when I heard it — a faint rustling sound. It was soft at first, like the brush of fabric or the quiet drag of something shifting against the floor. I froze, holding my breath, waiting. Then it came again, louder this time, deliberate — a sound that didn’t belong.
My pulse quickened as every childhood story I’d ever heard about things lurking in the dark flashed through my mind. I wanted to move, to turn on the light, to prove to myself that nothing was there. But fear rooted me in place. The silence that followed felt endless, heavy, as though the room itself were listening.
Was it just the house settling? The wind? Or something else entirely?