Ever since I was little, the idea of something hiding under my bed has always scared me. Even now, as an adult, the creak of the floorboards or the whisper of wind outside still stirs old fears I thought I’d outgrown.
Last night, those fears came rushing back.
Just after I turned off the lights, I heard it—a soft rustling, like fabric moving or someone breathing quietly in the dark. I froze. The sound came again, louder this time, and my heart started racing. Was it just the house settling? Or something else?
Part of me wanted to bolt. But another part—the braver one—grabbed my phone, turned on the flashlight, and leaned over the edge of the bed.
Nothing. Just dust and a forgotten sock.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling. Maybe it was my imagination.
Or maybe… something really was there—and just smart enough to wait until I looked away.
