Timmy had survived the horror, but there was no way he could make it through another night of this madness.
Little Timmy doesn’t like to sleep in his own room. Granted, he’s almost nine-years-old; a bit too old for this kind of behavior. But it’s not his fault. He has every right to be afraid. You see, there’s something in his room that shouldn’t be there. Something that only comes out at night. Why at night? Because it lives for the darkness. It feeds off it.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time Timmy could get a full night’s sleep without fear. But a few weeks ago the sounds started—intensifying every night. If it was just odd noises it wouldn’t have been so bad. But after the third day the sounds turned to ominous voices. At least that’s what Timmy thought they were. The voices—guttural and almost animalistic—echoed from beneath his bed.
The voices reached a crescendo last night—hitting an almost scream-like pitch. Timmy asked his parents about the voices but they only responded with confused denial. They thought he’d just been having nightmares.
Later that night the sounds started again. Timid and fearful, Timmy peered over the edge of his bed. Looking back at him were lifeless white eyes—it was his favorite stuffed Spider-Man plush. He let out a sign of relief.
A feeling of warmth and comfort came over him as he thought about holding the plush in his arms. And without thinking, he reached out to grab it—but something long and slimy shot out from under the bed. Timmy just managed to pull his arm back in time as the thing wrapped around Spider-Man and slid back from where it came.
Timmy had to fake being sick for the next couple of days so his parents would let him sleep with them in their bed. But it wasn’t long before they figured out what he was doing and forced him back to his room. And no matter how much he cried or tried to reason with them, they wouldn’t listen. His fate was sealed.
Most of his first night back in the room was quiet—and he started to think it was finally over. But he still had trouble falling asleep. Hour after hour went by and all he could do was stare into the darkness. A shadow from the wind against a tree outside his window would cause his heart to skip a beat. A creak of a floor board would send him into a hyper state of awareness. He just couldn’t calm down—but there was nothing in the room. Only his imagination keeping him awake.
The neon numbers on his clock hit 3 AM. And with it, a great trembling began underneath him. Timmy sat up and remained still—trying to figure out if this to was the work of his imagination. Several minutes went by and all stayed quiet.
He relaxed. Maybe his parents were right. Maybe all these nights of monsters under the bed really were just bad dreams—night terrors. He closed his eyes, feeling like he finally figured it all out. And it only took a few minutes before he started to doze off.
Silently from beneath the bed a deep red light billowed out like a fog. Giant tentacles crawled out from all sides and grabbed hold. They started shaking the bed violently—lifting it almost a foot off the floor. Timmy awoke in a panic and all he could think to do was sit in the center of his bed with the sheets pulled tight around him—hoping it would all end soon.
The morning came like a gift from God. Timmy had survived the horror, but there was no way he could make it through another night of this madness. But the day went by quicker than usual, and now bed time grew close. Knowing he had to face his fears and show his parents the truth, Timmy decided tonight would be the night he made a run for it. He hoped he’d be able to get to his parents bedroom and force them to come see the tentacled beast whom tortures him so. Then they’d have no choice but to believe him and the nightmare would finally end.
The sun sank below the horizon and the dark world of nightmares replaced it. Like clockwork, the neon green numbers hit 3 AM and the trembling of the bed began. But instead of waiting for the creature to come from hiding, Timmy jumped from his bed and made a dash for the door—praying he was fast enough to beat the slimy tentacles.
He only made it halfway to the door before a sharp, burning pain shot up his calf. Timmy looked down and to his horror, a red tentacle with razor-toothed suckers had wrapped around his right leg. Squeezing tighter and tighter, Timmy fell to the floor—writhing in agony. He let out a blood-curdling scream loud enough to wake his parents. They rushed in, but the boy was already gone. Only a red fog remained.
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