Under My Own Bed (Part 1) by Ilaria G.

Thank you, Ilaria G., for being the first to submit your writing! I appreciate it πŸ™‚


People always think that there are monsters under their beds. Aiden didn’t believe that until now.

The thumping under his bed had been becoming louder and louder until it jostled him with every THUMP!.Β  He was too scared to get up and look around, so we stayed in the bed with the covers pulled up to his chin and Mr. Sweetums under his arm.

Now there weren’t any thumps. Just growling and small chatter. Aiden, who was 11, figured the chatter was from his parents in the other room.

But the growling. The growling couldn’t be his parents. And he didn’t have a dog, so that couldn’t explain it.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Aiden knew, he was staring into bright sunlight. There was no growling, no thumps, and no signs that all that was real.

He turned over on his back, and started talking to Mr. Sweetums, like he always did. Even though Mr. Sweetums was a stuffed animal, he was Aiden’s best friend.

β€œSo, Mr. Sweetums, how has your night been?” Of course, Mr. Sweetums didn’t answer. But Aiden could tell something wasn’t right. He looked over at Mr. Sweetums snuggled up in his arms. Or at least, what was Mr. Sweetums’ arm.

The arm was just there, nothing else. Stuffing was coming out of it, and a trail of stuffing led under his bed.
Aiden screamed and ran out of the room. He didn’t want it to be real. He wanted it to be a dream. He splashed water on his face, and pinched himself, but when he walked back into the room, Mr. Sweetums’ arm was on the bed and a trail of stuffing led under the bed.

Aiden searched around in the attic, which really was creepy, until he found what he was looking for. An old baby gate that they had when he was a little kid. He pulled it into his room and put it around the bottom of his bed. Then he glanced at the clock. It said 6:45. They had to leave in 15 minutes to make it to school.
Luckily, his school had uniforms, so he just threw that on, brushed his teeth, combed his hair (partly), grabbed a cereal bar and waited outside for his dad.

TenΒ minutes later, they were on the road. His dad could tell something was wrong, because Aiden usually talked on and on about what was going on, but today he was totally quiet. Mr. Zepner shook it off and told himself that his son was just growing up, and it would be rude to interrupt his thoughts.
The school day was fine. Nothing really big happened. Only once when he was in the bathroom, the stall behind him flushed, but there were no feet. He walked out quickly, after that. He didn’t want to find out who was in there.

That night, his mom found out that they were missing a couple of pots, and his dad was missing a couple of his papers. They both thought nothing of it, though. And when his mom came to tuck Aiden in for the night, she figured the absence of Mr. Sweetums was just because her little boy was growing older. She didn’t know what to think of the play gate around the bottom of his bed, though.β€œLittle boys do little weird things every now and then,” she said to herself.

When the thumping came back, Aiden was prepared. With his dad’s old tool belt around his waist, and a couple of old flashlights, he removed the baby gate and peered under the bed.
It was too dark, so he pulled a flashlight from his tool belt and shone it under the bed.

The first thing he saw was an eye. Then another eye. Then what appeared to be gray fur and pink scales. And teeth that opened wide and gave a huge roar.

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