It's there.

I can see it.

I can always see it.

I see its two golden beacons glaring at me from under the bed when I peep through the keyhole of the bedroom door.

But I am not afraid.

I see its long, slimy black hair peeking out from the shadows beneath the bed when I am hiding from it in the familiar darkness of the wardrobe, only a minute crack in the wood giving me enough moonlight to squint through.

But I am not afraid.

I see it at the end of the bed when I lay on the mattress uncomfortably at night, its gnarly, human-like fingers slipping in and out of sight, surrounding me like a thousand buzzing insects.

But I am not afraid.

It's lurking. The creature.

Lurking. And watching. And waiting.

Waiting for me to leave. It only comes out when I leave... I think.

I have never dared to look under the bed, though. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, the one thing I avoid is going near that place.

I have devised a special system for myself to get onto the bed at night without disturbing the creature below. It's rather clever, actually.

Every night, I first slip silently into the room, trying to make as little noise as possible. I don't want to alert it of my presence.

But its piercing eyes from the darkness beneath the bed are always on me. Watching my every move. Following me.

I have learnt to ignore them. Instead, I focus on my routine. Focus on the logical steps I must carry out to arrive on the safety of the bed. It can't hurt me when I am on there. It never comes out from below, always staying close to the shadows underneath. I don't know why it does that, but I am grateful.

Then, I climb into the wardrobe. It feels safe in there. I can still make out a glimpse of its features if I peer through the splintering crevice in the wood, the deep moonlight casting a dim glow throughout the room. But it feels safe. Because it can't see me.

I am invisible.

The next part of my routine involves a little secret. It's a trap door. I know of one inside the wardrobe, in the far corner. Nobody else knows about it but me.

Not even it.

I discovered it one day when I was hiding in the wardrobe as usual, waiting for the creature to leave from under the bed. But it never leaves when I'm in the room. It was wishful of me.

But as boredom was seeping through me, I had begun trailing my hands along the walls of the wardrobe, the alternating patches of smooth and rough wood comforting against the ragged flesh of my palm. It was then when my fingers stumbled upon a tiny slit in the corner of the wall, so infinitesimal that I had almost missed it. I followed it round to trace a small square and then fumbled blindly for the handle. My hands had wrapped themselves around it and I pushed it open, the low creaking of the wood painfully abrasive against my ears.

It was dark beyond the trap door. Too dark to make anything out. But curiosity overcame my unease and I had stumbled through the small hole, a surge of adrenaline carrying me through. I'd continued crawling through the tight gap, the endless blackness seeming to somehow get even darker the further I went, wrapping around me in its tight embrace.

I had considered returning to the wardrobe. But that would only lead me back to the creature. And I didn't want it to find me.

So I went on.

Through the endless narrow passageways, swerving left and right, until I finally reached the end.

A small grate bearing several slits stood at the end of the tunnel. Weak streetlights from outside the window filtered through the gaps, bathing the path above me in a soft glow. I had inched closer and caressed my fingers along the cool metal, my fingers intertwining with stringy, ancient cobwebs. I'd tried to lift open the grate and it snapped off easily with a muffled click. Peeking out, I had noticed I was watching the bedroom from an air vent in the wall, on the opposite side of the wardrobe. I had travelled through the ventilation system within the rooms own walls.

Genius, I dare say. Because the position I had been in was the perfect short drop to the bed from above. My feet would never have to come close to the edge of the bed; I would stay safe and far away from the strange creature lurking below as I go to bed every night. I'd be silently slipping in from above and it would never know of my presence. It was perfect.

So, the last step of my routine, once I travel through my secret tunnel, is to slowly drop onto the bed without alerting it. It's hard to be so dreadfully silent—sometimes I breathe too loudly or creak the bed too much, and I hear it stirring, its low moans emanating from the depths below.

But I am not afraid.

The routine helps. Every day, following the same set of simple, practical rules mechanically, takes my mind off of what's lurking beneath my bed. It helps to calm me. Because if I think too hard about what's truly hidden there, I'll turn insane. 

Tonight is a night like no other. I carry out my usual keyhole check. It's still there.

I sneak into the room, tiptoeing towards the wardrobe, careful not to get too close to the edge of the bed. It's still watching me.

I climb into the wardrobe and through my familiar dark passage, my petite body easily moulding to the now not-so-tight, accustomed squeeze of the vents and the habitual darkness now warm and comforting around me. I silently remove the grate and climb down onto the bed gently. Other than a soft creak of the bed, I was very quiet today—the creature is undisturbed. I smile inwardly as I snuggle into the duvet and close my eyes, waiting for the tendrils of sleep to pull me into their dark world.

But I can't sleep. Because there is a shift in the air, and I instantly know that something is wrong.

Something is... different.

My eyes shoot open and a shocking sight beholds me.

A face.

Its face.

My hands grab my mouth in horror as a round, human-like face stares back at me from the bottom of the bed. Stark, wide eyes reflecting the bright golden streetlights from outside bore into me like lasers. An ugly extension of a nose and two dry, cracked lips are slashed onto its horrid, pale, stretched out skin.

It's just like the creatures Mother describes in her stories, the ones she says to stay away from no matter how strong the temptation.

Our species should not meddle with theirs, Mother used to say. Stick with the badgers and squirrels. They may not taste as good, but at least we'll be safe.

I have never seen one of these before in real life but it has always been my dream to see it in the flesh, to rip my claws into its strange, foreign skin and feast on its juicy, thick blood.

But I've avoided it for so long: hiding from it, stalking it from the comfort of the darkness, watching its movements but never getting too close. I have always been anxious of Mother's adamant warnings that their species is too dangerous to mess with.

But I am not afraid.

Now, looking at it stare back at me with that raw fear blazing in its eyes, makes my mouth water in wild hunger. It's so tantalisingly close and I just can't resist the temptation anymore. I can no longer heed Mother's warnings.

So today, I finally get to fulfil my wishes.

I finally get to taste... human.

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Written using a prompt from Lavender Scripts - themonocommittee

You can never let your feet touch the bottom of your bed, or else the creature will get them.

(Winner of the Oct 2020 Prompt Contest)

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Written in Oct 2020