Don’t look under the bed

3 am. Commonly associated with silent ghosts, creepy clowns, and ill-intentioned demons. You don’t believe in such things, haven’t since you were a kid. The paranormal doesn’t normally scare you, and neither does the human-shaped stack of clothing propped in the corner of the room. Flicking on your old bedside lamp, you confirm your suspicions out loud, “Yep that’s just my clothes. I put them there. They’re not going to kill me.” Sending the room back into darkness, your breathing slowly returns to normal, and you are oblivious to the figure slipping out from underneath your bed, a toothless smile crossing his face. 

Many nights come and go, and you begin waking up more frequently between the hours of 2 and 3:30 am. You also become more readily confused as to how your backpack moves from its place beside your desk, across the room, and onto your dresser. Or how the closet door is somehow open when you are nearly positive you closed it before climbing into bed the night before. 

Refusing to believe that the cause of these events was anything paranormal, you concluded that you were just forgetful. Meanwhile, each night like clockwork, the man with the white face and pale blue eyes crawls out from his spot underneath your bed and makes his way to the attic entrance, hidden inside your closet.  

One early morning, however, you awoke to a strange, but somehow familiar feeling that you were being watched. Sleepily rolling over you checked the clock, reading aloud, “3:15”. After sitting up, you leave the safety of your warm bed to trip and stumble your way to the bathroom. But wait, you hadn’t placed your tennis shoes in the middle of the bedroom, and you definitely would never have closed and locked both the bathroom and bedroom doors. 

After rapidly deciding that something just wasn’t right, you tried to make your way to the light switch, only to be met by more unexpected obstacles, and “WHY THE HECK IS MY CHAIR IN THE MIDDLE OF MY ROOM!” Frantically attempting to shove the chair out of the way, you noticed that the stack of dirty clothes didn’t fall. Didn’t move. Didn’t even shake. But a mysterious creepy figure definitely did. 

The figure stood up, white face streaked with red, illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window when your eyes were drawn to the object in his hand. Small and shiny, the pale beams of light reflected off a small sharp metal surface. Deathly laughter fills the empty corners of your room, and your blood runs cold as you realize that this thing, this man, had been the one moving stuff around your room, not a silent ghost, nor an ill-intentioned demon. He pounces towards you, arms gripping your neck, your scream is cut short when silver flashes before your eyes and everything goes dark.