Bedtime Part 3

The Unseen

Then, with great force, it prodded angrily between two slats, into the mattress. Even through the padding, it felt like someone had viciously stuck their fingers into my side. I let out an almighty cry, and the wheezing thing below replied by violently vibrating the bunk, shaking the frame against the wall. Small flakes of paint powdered onto my blanket as I lay there in terror.

Once again, my mother rushed in, offering a comforting hug and soothing words that eventually calmed my hysteria. She asked what was wrong, but I could only repeat one word over and over: “Nightmare.” This cycle continued for weeks. Each night, I would awaken to rustling sheets and scream, fearing the abomination would probe for me. My mother would arrive just in time, unaware of the sinister force torturing me.

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