Click. Jack awoke, rubbed his eyes, starting to bring himself around. As his senses returned, he could have sworn he saw something crawl under his bed. In the blackest part of the night, it was difficult to make out at first, but the shape was there, illuminated by a slice of light that the closed door let through.

Headfirst, it slid under his bed like an eel through murky water. It had no eyes, just two punctures for nostrils atop a gaping jaw, sucking up air like two black holes. His eyes locked on the mouth overflowing with barbed teeth, salivating like a rabid dog. Once teeth like that get into flesh, they don’t retract without something latched to them. Its whole body was stretched out of proportion, in desperate need of a meal. Thin enough to see the painfully crooked bones of what you could call its arms and legs, if only they bent and moved how limbs were supposed to. Broken and fused at angles only seen in abstract art. Parts of its spine ejected themself from its back, like the edges of a serrated blade, slicing through the air as it scampered. Under the faint light he saw its skin, coarse as sandpaper but sagging from its bones, ready to be torn away like tender, boiled meat. Punctuating its inhuman limbs were needle-like fingers, perfect for digging deep into the skin.

What the hell was that? He thought to himself. I didn’t really see that.

But he wasn’t so sure. There have always been figures lurking in the dark, within the hazy limbo between nightmare and reality. Strange forms and shapes where there were none to be seen, but they were not real, and they had never been so defined…. nor had they crawled under his bed.

I locked the front door.

In society we live by rules. If we lock the front door before we go to bed it means we are safe. Nothing thin and deadly could crawl down our chimney. If we leave a downstairs window open, nightmares on four limbs shouldn’t climb through. If we lock the front door, we are safe. What a stupid thought.

I can’t hear anything under there though.

Silence, utter silence. Where was the sound of the hallway fan? The clock tick-tick-ticking away? His own breath? Where had they gone? Could he be sure he was hearing nothing? Or was he just choosing to believe there was silence? Could his mind be masking the sound of its rickety bones with each pop of movement, or the sound of it breathing in long deep breaths through gaping nostrils? The sound of saliva dripping rhythmically on to the floor? He might not hear anything, but he could feel his palms sweat, feel the tension all over his body, rising and falling in great rushing waves of fear. He drowned in anxiety, struggling to get his breath back. As though his body was even more aware than he was of the danger drawing close, regardless of the silence.

Is it worth checking under there?

If it was there, all hope would be lost. There would be no escape or rescue, there would
be no life beyond this hour, this minute. Only suffering until death graced him. Looking would not bring a morsel of safety, nothing short of a missile could stop such a wretched creature. But if all is lost, is it not better to have some shred of courage in your last moments? Besides, if it wasn’t there, all could be forgotten.

I’ll just check under the bed. Just for ease of mind.

Jack checked under his bed, moving his body at a cautious pace. Heart pounding through his chest. His eyes met nothing but the floor. Nothing. No salivating abomination, ready to tear him limb from limb. Nothing but the beautiful empty space and seemingly glittering dust. Finally, a pent-up exhale left his mouth as he clambered back up into a sleeping position.

Just my imagination. I can’t believe I worked myself up like that.

The tension in his body began to melt. And as he began to return to sleep, he felt it. The subtle warmth of breath on the back of his neck.

Featured Artwork Credit: Son of Stolas (@SonofStolas)