Why do all the monsters come out at night?

I can hear it, but only when it’s dark.

There’s a rustling, like a shifting of weight. Nails tapping against the wooden floor in a tap, tap, tap rhythm. Steady, even breathing. Was that... a laugh?

I pulled my blanket up under my chin. The neon pink glow of the light plugged under my desk illuminates only a small corner. 

They say I’m crazy. I’m a twenty-three year old woman. How can I still believe there’s a monster under my bed? That’s ridiculous. You grow out of that.

But I can hear it.

It began eight months ago. I couldn’t sleep. It was 3:03 AM. I had work in three and a half hours, but I laid there staring up at the smooth ceiling with my hands folded over my chest. Waiting to get even thirty minutes of sleep before my alarm sounded. That’s when there was a bump under my bed. I thought the cat was playing with a toy beneath the mattress. She did that sometimes. It happened a couple more times and I called her name. Her head popped up from where she was curled on top of a pile of blankets.

She mewed at me and my blood ran cold.

If she was there, then what…?

Another bump.

I was hearing things, I told myself. My mind was playing tricks from the lack of sleep. It was nothing. I turned on my side, toward the wall, and shut my eyes.

It happened again the next night. And the next. And then the next week. Always at 3:03. By a month, the rustling and breathing started. Then the tapping.

In the early days, I tried shining a flashlight under. I had been braver back then. I didn’t see anything. Just an old slipper and a plastic mouse. 

Now, I couldn’t bring myself to look. His presence was strong enough. I could see him in my head. A black shadow with clawed fingers. He slithered like a snake between his realm and ours, but could loom over you when he stood on his always bare feet. His eyes glowed deep red. He had a twisted grin-pointed teeth, of course-to go along with that maniacal laugh.

I shuddered when I heard it again.

He was real. I couldn’t face him.

Something shifted.

I peeked toward the floor. The mechanical mouse came scuttling across, bumping into the computer tower. They only move when wound up.

I cowered under my blanket, curling into a ball with it over my head. I was trembling and tears blurred my vision when I heard a mass slide across the floor, like a box being pushed aside. The boards squeaked with a weight.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clapped my hands over my ears, humming a shaky lullaby to myself.

It didn’t block the noise.

Footsteps paused at my back. Something gripped the edge of my blanket.

A satisfied hum.

Please, no.