As a kid, I was terrified of what might lurk beneath my bed—creaks, shadows, and rattling windows only fed my imagination. I grew up telling myself monsters weren’t real.
But last night, doubt crept back in. Just after turning off the lights, I heard a faint rustle—soft, deliberate. My heart pounded. Should I look? Or stay perfectly still?
Curiosity won. I grabbed my phone, shined its flashlight into the darkness, and found only dust and a forgotten sock. Still, the unease lingered. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been there, watching.
