Sleep well, Click-Clacks and Rattlebags!
Best not look under there. No, no, it’s nothing to be afraid of, really. But I still don’t think you should look, because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Under the Monster’s Bed
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
You’ve heard of monsters under the bed—the fears we harbor as children of the closet, of the dark, and of hands set to wrap around our ankles. But what hides under the monster’s bed?
The first place my mind goes to is a switch—a monster calling their parents into the room because they’re scared a human child is under their bed. Like in Monster’s Inc., how the monsters are scared of Boo, the little girl. There are many different fun switcharoos/opposites you could use with this: an angel hiding under a demon’s bed, a knight or princess hiding in a dragon’s hoard, a vampire hunter hiding in a vampire’s coffin, a rooster under a basilisk nest. There are lots of hilarious stories you could write of heroes hiding under the villain’s bed. Such as an adventuring party reaching the villain’s lair, but the only place to hide is under the villain’s bed, so they’re all crowded under there…all the while the villain plays ponies on the bed, or cries themselves to sleep. I think lots of fun stories could be created by thinking of something you’d usually consider a monster, and then reversing the roles—putting the “good” character in the monster’s usual hiding spot.
Part of what makes the image of “the monster under the bed” so scary (and so common) is that it’s the image of danger in your safe place. But let’s have fun switching the roles around this week—what’s safe to a monster? What leaves the monsters vulnerable and scared?
What’s hiding under the monster’s bed doesn’t necessarily have to be something good. What leaves a monster vulnerable and scared could easily be more monsters. You could play with the idea of “there’s always a bigger fish.” A child might be scared of a monster…but it stands to reason what haunts that monster would be that much scarier. It could be a cycle: a monster haunts the human child, a monster haunts the monster child, and it’s monsters all the way down. You could do silly things with this too—perhaps a zombie is buried under a vampire’s coffin, or two monsters get their schedules jumbled, and end up haunting each other.
What hides under a monster’s bed could also make the monster…less monstrous. Perhaps hiding under a monster’s bed is a box of mementos from better times. Maybe they keep the letters from their lost love, or the photographs from their past friendships. You could even go very symbolic with this—maybe what hides “under the monster’s bed” is rather the good person just beneath their villainous surface, which is brought out during the story. How does our hero get “under their bed”? How can they pull the “box of memories” to the surface?
You could do other domestic, gentle things with it too. Maybe you want to write about a cute little “monster” and the toys hidden under their bed. Or the strange, alien pet hiding there during a thunderstorm. What’s hidden under the monster’s bed doesn’t have to be living, or evil. It could just as easily be smelly socks, lint, dust bunnies, old coins, and toys.
You could play with different types of beds, like waterbeds, air mattresses, or hammocks. Maybe fish swim in the arrogant billionaire’s fancy waterbed, or a snake curls up beneath the hammock of the teen who refused to help set up camp.
It doesn’t even have to be a traditional bed either! Many things are said to have beds; maybe your monster has a flower bed, with skeletons, or else harmless trinkets, hidden inside. Or perhaps you want to write about a river or sea monster, and what’s hidden beneath the river or seabed. Even layers of rocks can be beds—“a bed of clay.” Perhaps an entire civilization is the “monster,” built on the fossils of the previous one. Or a foundation could be a bed—“a bed of concrete.” Maybe a murderer hides the evidence in wet concrete. Even layered foods can have beds—“a bed of spinach.” Maybe your character is a petulant child, who wants the chocolate beneath the bed of “monstrous” raisins in the trail mix.
You can take it further than that. You don’t have to use something called a bed either. It can just be a place of rest. Maybe someone, who just destroyed a bar in a drunken rage, collapses on the couch, finding old coins in the cracks. Perhaps you want to write about a homeless kid who is treated as a monster by society, and in their bed of straw are their only possessions. A troll might find rocks very comfortable to sleep on (or you could use the river bed idea with a bridge troll too). Perhaps a spider (considered a monster by many) lives under someone’s hat, so what’s under their bed is simply…a person. Maybe a mother reptile, or bird, or even a dinosaur, finds something hiding under her eggs.
Because that’s the thing. It doesn’t have to be a bed with four posts and a mattress…and it doesn’t have to be a fantastical monster either. People can become monsters more easily than most of us care to admit. Perhaps one spouse is having an affair, and the way they ruined the relationship makes them a monster, and the person they’re having the affair with hides under the bed. People will sometimes hide their diaries under the bed (or at least under the pillow). What could make a little girl doodling in her diary a monster? Perhaps she bullies the other kids at school, and the evidence is written in her diary. Maybe you want to write about a traditional situation where a monster hides under a child’s bed…only to slowly show us that the child is the real monster, and the “monster” is more of a guardian angel.
Let’s take the symbolism even further. There’s a saying “You’ve made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.” Generally, this doesn’t refer to a literal bed. This is usually said to someone complaining about their lot in life, meaning “You’ve made many poor choices that led you to this place in life. Now you’re facing the consequences.” As long as you make the bed connection clear, I think this could be a fascinating take on the prompt. Perhaps a villain, or cooperation creates an evil empire, and the rebellion arising against their cruel regime is what’s hiding under their “bed.” Perhaps you want to write about how your villain’s evil actions come back to bite them in another way—it could even be something as simple as them creating a structurally unsound, but impressive, castle that comes crashing down.
Initially my challenge for this week was going to be “don’t make it an actual bed” and/or “make all the characters human.” If you prefer either (or both) of those, feel free to still use them! You could even add another layer of difficulty where each challenge excludes the other—either write about only human characters, or only non-human characters; either write about a literal bed, or a non-literal bed, but not both.
However, the more I write about the potential literal takes, the more hilarious they seem, and the more I’d love to see you write about them. So I thought I’d try a new angle.
This prompt is, in some ways, “What makes a monster less scary?” Because, if you know what’s hiding under the monster’s bed, then presumably that makes them less scary to you. Even if you’re still just as scared, maybe you at least have a better understanding of the monster.
So my challenge is…that. Think about what would make a monster less scary. What fears does the monster have to deal with? This could be a reason to sympathize with the monster—like the bigger fish, or box of memento ideas, or just finding a gentle, happy side to the monster after seeing the toys under its bed. But you could also take it even deeper, and think of the monster under your bed. This could be what you were scared of as a kid, or something you’re scared of today. Think of something that genuinely scared/scares you…and give it a monster under its bed. Sort as a therapy for yourself—making the nightmares you’ve truly faced less big.
Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!
Oh no. Well…I did tell you not to look.
—Kaylie
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Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
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Inside a Vorlexia
by: Crush
And as she fell backward, she could see her own outreached hand, fingers still spread, surrounded by an inky mosaic of millions of different warped realities. It was an unfathomable splash of colors, lights, and memories. The good and the bad.
Her thoughts raced, her head pounded. This wasn’t the network, warped in its own right, but with meaning. Seemingly, intent. This place was… wrong. Like some sort of wound on spacetime’s neck. Energy swirled in her bones, almost in unison with the shards of infinite worlds spinning around her, distorting indefinitely.
Now, this was a familiar feeling. The encompassing. Growing numbness.
Her thoughts slowed. Solidified. “What have you done now, Victoria?”
Tears in her eyes, she promptly wafted the words away, firstly her own name.
Victoria was pacified, surrounded by familiar dreams. A memory of running as a child. A memory of embracing her first love. A memory of cleaning her adult home. She didn’t mean to, but she saw it. The brilliant crimson. The red you don’t forget.
“Try as you might.”
Victoria darted her eyes toward the blurry entity. How long had she been standing? How long with someone else?
Victoria forced words through her lungs, trembling. “Who are-”
“You’d call me a ‘monster,’ right?” The blur cracked a grin.
She stared. Her headache throbbed louder. The blur appeared to be composed of every conceivable version of Victoria herself, cosmically tied together. Everything was off. Some versions seemed to be trying to escape their shared body. The warped shapes making up the scene morphed and fractalized in and out of being.
The blur urged her. Details rippled back into her projected memories. The running child hid blood from Finn’s nose on her knuckles. The young woman would often “escape” by popping tabs. The adult scrubbed brilliant crimson from the floors.
“I don’t wanna see this.”
“You may have been sleeping more, but you just couldn’t ever stop running, huh?” The blur’s words burned in Victoria’s stomach.
“I said I DON’T WANNA SEE THIS!!” Victoria screamed, clenched her fists.
The blur was gone. Reduced to blood and bone.
Mischievous Monsters
By Koryan
“Who’s a good boy, who’s a good guard dog.” I waved the long stick before stretching and straining my arm to throw like a spear.
We wobbled like a tightrope-walker balancing on a rope for the first time as Cerberus rushed to get his stick.
My eyes glossed over my partner in crime,“I’m not sure how much longer I can keep throwing.” Even though Ceberus was quite a distance away the ground still rumbled underneath our feet.
He patted the monstrous pile of fluff that Ceberus has claimed as his sleeping grounds. His eyebrows furrowed lost in thought again.
I sighed, “what is it you’re looking for again?”
“My new spear.”
“The one from the Gods?” My mind raced so many new ways I can tease him about this later. That’s just like him. He can keep track of his useless belongings and loses everything that is important.
“Yes, and if I don’t find it before reporting back to my post I’ll be dead.”
I snorted. Hands clutching my stomach.
“Just shut up and help me.”
“Alright fine. I’ll help you look.”
“You lift it and I’ll look underneath.”
The rumbling got closer.
“Gotta make it quick.”
We both nodded. I lifted the giant pillow as my partner continued his search.
“See anything under there?”
As soon as I had asked, helmets, swords, bones, and chainmail clanged and echoed through the chamber. But no spear.
“Hey, watch it, dead or not I still wouldn’t want to lose an eye.”
No response, just soft grumples and clanging as metal hit the stone floor just inches away from me.
The ground shook like the wrath of Zeus making it harder to keep holding up the bed with my now burning muscles.
The giant red and black hellhound wiggled his butt.
“Ceberus no! No Ceberus!”
He pounced. Darkness encircled us, crushing us underneath his bed. If it weren’t so fluffy I’d say we would’ve died.
“How are we going to get out?” I asked my partner, as dumb as he is, he has ingenious escape plans.
“‘Dunno, but I found my spear.”
No More Monster
By Matthew R. Wright
Another night, and yet again Catherine heard her daughter’s scream through their paper-thin walls, another nightmare. It was the ninth night in a row, and Catherine had tried everything to settle her daughter down. Nothing had worked. She entered her daughter Sarah’s room: dimly-lit with a squishable night-light plugged-in right beside the bed. Sarah sat-up coated in sweat, tears and a runny-nose.
“Be still, my sweet, and listen, I want to tell you a story,” Catherine whispered.
Young Sarah had been plagued by dark and twisted dreams brought-on by the monster that had once lived under her bed.
“Did you know that monsters need sleep?”
“No,” her voice wobbled like jelly.
“Well, they do. Even monsters sleep, especially OUR monster. They even have their own beds, but they’re not as nice as your bed.” Catherine took Sarah’s hand and glided it across the soft sheets.
“OUR monster, doesn’t hide under your or mummy’s bed anymore do they? mummy sort to that. Remember when the monster-hunters came?”
Sarah nodded.
“The monster-hunters made sure that IT couldn’t whisper things to you or rock your bed or upset mummy anymore, instead, our monster MUST stay in their own bed for a very long time, in their own cold and ugly room where the other monsters dwell. And the best thing is, is that its a place full of bigger, scarier monsters, and some of those monsters like to scare and bite and eat monsters like our monster, especially monsters that hurt mummys and little girls. Our monster’s terribly scared of those monsters and the monsters under his bed, and I think that’s just-right don’t you?.” Catherine said the last line with a practice smile.
“Even monsters have monsters?” Sarah enquired, missing the question.
“Yes,” replied Catherine “And they’re’ll all too busy under HIS bed to bother us anymore. Now get some sleep.” She kissed Sarah on her head and stood up from the bed, turned out the light and quietly closed the door.
She hoped that Sarah would soon have her first gentle night. She deserved it, they both did.
The Rules That Must Be Followed
By Vin
Amelia wants to play rock paper scissors with the monster under her bed.
“I do not wish to join you in your games, human child.” The voice that whispers from beneath is silky smooth darkness, curling at the edges like sharp-bladed petals.
“PLEASE. No one likes to play with me at school.” Amelia kicks her chubby legs at the edge of the bed and peers down into the darkness. “It’s easy! I can teach you.” She holds out her tiny hands and clenches them into a fist. “Rock beats scissors,” her index and middle finger jut out, “scissors beats paper,” her hand unfurls, “and paper beats rock!” A pause. “Now we try!”
A liquid sigh from below. “Fine. But I would have you know that this is far beneath me.”
Amelia ignores the last part and focuses only on the monster’s acquiescence. “Yay!! Ok. Rock. Paper. Scissors!”
A shadowy tendril detaches itself from under the bed and forms itself into blades of ebony, a glistening sharp scissor made of darkness. It is met with Amelia’s tiny fist. She squeals with delight. “I win!!”
The shadowy scissors shift, ever so slightly. “Interesting. Even if I can easily cut you in half with this weapon, you win because of your silly human rules.”
Amelia nods as sagely as she can. “Rock beats scissors.” She tries to demonstrate by bonking the blades with her fist but before she can accidentally cut herself, it disappears in a puff of smoke.
“Enough games, human.” There is an impatient bump in the otherwise smoothness of the voice. “Have you given thought to our deal?”
Amelia considers. The very first time she realized there was a monster underneath her bed, she hadn’t been scared. Indeed, the monster had seemed only helpful, offering her anything her heart desired, in exchange for a few “sacrifices.” She had been eyeing the plastic sword her parents refused to get for her for a while now…
“Fine.” She pauses. “But I have some rules you need to follow.”
Sleep Tight, Little Bug
By ThatWeirdFish
The grubling shivered as she tried to sleep. After having her first molt, the heat lamp was unnecessary. Though the comfort it gave through the blistering red glow helped them feel safe when it was time to sleep. Especially from the whispers below her bed. It was silent tonight, but the prickling of the hairs on all ten of her legs left no doubt.
“Papa!” They yelped into the darkness. “It’s here!”
With a tired groan, her dad unfolded himself from the crack in the ceiling and slouched above them.
“What is here?” He frowned groggily and scratched at the boils on his neck. “Ah-ah, no clicking. Use your words, Molettia.”
“T-the monsters,” Molettia whimpered. She pulled the molding quilt up to her proboscis and gave her dad that pleading look he couldn’t resist.
His second mouth sighed while his first gave a reassuring half-smile. “Alright, let’s check the room again.”
He snapped his tentacles and the room lit up with a lime-green glow from the ceiling newts. He slinked to the windows and peered behind the curtain.
“Hmm… Old Maid Willow is hunting again. She’ll catch anything that dares come inside.”
Molettia nodded, staying hidden.
“As for the closet…” He rapped three times and waited. Molettia jumped when three bangs responded. “Mothrat is on the prowl. He will feast on anything in the walls.”
“B-but what about under the b-b-bed?”
“Let’s see…” The floorboards creaked as her father lowered himself to be at eye level with the darkness.
Molettia wormed over to the edge of the bed and risked a peek, watching her father’s tentacles coil with every breath.
Her father was still, staring firmly at the head of a man glaring back at him from the other side of the bed. After exchanging an understanding nod, both fathers stood up and hugged their children.
“There is no monster under your bed. I made sure of it.”
“To Begin Anew” (Shadows of the Stellar Age Setting)
By: Arith_Winterfell
People use the saying, “There are skeletons in your closet.” Truth be told, mine are not in my closet. In a drawer under my bunk on this starship, covered by a blanket, and neatly out of sight are a few possessions I still keep from my home world of Arlayna. It’s foolish and dangerous that I keep such mementos. Though I expect they would make little sense, at first glance, to anyone not from my small backwater world. An old medal from a government now swept aside. A commendation for my work stopping terrorism. A datapad holding images of a younger me standing with men in similar uniforms. An old ID that once opened doors in the halls of power, for what little place I held there. All gone.
You see, I’m one of the Shroudtouched or psychically gifted. I can read minds. The leaders on Arlayna told me that my people needed my abilities. I was trained to use my gifts to discover traitors to the state and stopping terrorist attacks. I did things civilized people shouldn’t do. I tore secrets from the minds of men who opposed a state I now realize was terribly flawed. I was part of that state, but I wasn’t foolish enough as to not realize it was oppressive to its people. I was a tool of that oppression, though at the time I thought it patriotism. I thought I was saving lives.
In the end, the old regime fell to the rebels and was swept away. I fled with my life, knowing I would never see my home world again. Yes, I can read your thoughts even now. Do you see me as only a monster? Or do you see me as I am, just a man trying to start a new life? Or do you just see the credits you can gain by turning me over to the new government on my home world? So, what will you do with me now?
[DM me on Discord for details!]
How Victory Is Measured
by Lunabear (A Song for: Nikita) (Private Repost)
The little girl hustled down a long hallway, the heels of her shoes loud against heavy Jarrah wood. Rushing was difficult because she had to hold her dress’s hem above the floor. Regardless of the reason, he wouldn’t tolerate lateness.
Excitement coursed through her despite the potential consequences. This would be her first time inside the conference room. In all of the manor, that was one section forbidden to her.
Well, HIS daysleep chambers were also off limits.
Speaking of that very place, the door was ajar, which was never the case. A human heart beating out its final, plaintive rhythm was all too familiar.
Her steps slowed, and she looked to the end of the hall then back towards his room. Should she go inside?
‘No’, she mentally chastised herself. ‘The last time I went through a door that wasn’t supposed to be opened, I was turned against my will.’
“Help me,” the voice rasped. Roses and jasmine beneath heavy perspiration identified the person as feminine.
The little girl halted a few feet from her destination. Worry and curiosity intermingled low in her stomach. If she were tardy, she would suffer. On the other hand, the woman was in danger. Her breathing was already labored. Pained.
Biting into her lower lip, nearly drawing blood, the little girl thought it better to assist this woman, in spite of the punishments. Gathering her courage, she retraced her steps and poked her head around the jamb.
Her eyes were instantly drawn to the four-poster bed and the older woman half beneath it. Her fang-marked torso was visible, and her wrists were bound.
The little girl zipped over to the whimpering woman just as the exit was slammed shut and locked.
“The deaths of rabbits and deer masking their blood,” he hissed. “You fed from humans but never killed a single one. You thought it would go unnoticed. Well, allow us to rectify that.”
Her dread-filled gaze met that of a stone cold murderer.
“In doing so, you will earn your vampiric name: Nikita. It means ‘victor’. And I shall be your Maker.”
Sanctuary
By R. Harriet
The footsteps stop outside the door, their looming shadows swallowing the lights seeping underneath the doorframe. I have already taken the usual steps when this happens. First, get on your knees and crawl under the bed. Two, stay quiet. Three, pretend you don’t exist.
The door cracks open. A small pair of feet stands unmoving on the threshold as if waiting for a sign, silently watching the room. The figure enters the room, followed by a larger set of feet. They pause when they reach the foot of my bed. I quickly cover my mouth out of instinct. As they sit on the bed, the mattress sinks slightly underneath their weight.
They’re talking now, but their voices sound filtered through my ear; like the compressed echoes of sounds heard in the depths of the ocean.
Sushi appears in the doorframe, barking relentlessly at the spot beneath the bed, at me!
Go away! They’re not supposed to know I’m here.
The smaller pair of feet ushers Sushi out of the room and firmly shuts the door.
“You think he knows?” a female voice asks.
“Sushi?” the man says, “ He must’ve sensed it by now.”
They settle at the foot of the bed. For three weeks, their nocturnal ritual of coming and going from my room every single night has caused me to seek sanctuary under the bed. Every night for three weeks now, I’ve had to endure their horrid cries. It pains me. Sleep has forsaken me completely, for there is no sleep for the dead. There’s no way to clasp my ears from their anguished sobs and their whispers. Their cries tear my heart but I don’t want to leave them yet.
It breaks my heart less when I don’t see them.
The thing under my bed
By Alice Northwood
The thing was here again last night.
My knees bloomed with fresh bruises and my arms ached as if they had been prodded and pushed all night long.
I don’t know what it is or what it wants from me.
I lay in my bed each night, listening intently at the darkness. One time, I could swear I saw some movement in the shadows at the edge of my bed. Another time, something ducking below. But I can never keep myself awake long enough.
Mother says it’s just a trick of the mind, a spec in the eyes. The flowing shadows of the night.
But I know it isn’t.
I know it wants me, waiting under my bed every night until I fast asleep. I can see it in my mind, crawling. Its paws softly climbing through my sheets, its breath against my sleeping face. Grabbing my arms and pressing against my skin. It takes energy from me, feeding off my dreams.
Maybe it sucks pieces of my soul.
Not tonight.
I set up an alarm for four a.m. in the highest volume my phone would allow. I connected the smart light to my bed lamp and set it to turn on at the same time. Full brightness. I will catch it in the act. I left my baseball bat above my pillow, in case it attacks.
It won’t even know what hit it.
The blaring of the alarm rips me from a dream. I was being chased by something I could not see.
Immediately, I feel my knees hurt, something hard pressed against them.
My eyes sting at the sudden light. There is something hard below me and my arms and chest are being pushed down.
No. Wait.
I am lifting myself against something.
I struggle to focus as I realize that I am not in my bed, but on the floor. My legs disappear under it, my knees pushing against the wooden slats. My chest presses against the sideboards as I struggled against it in my sleep.
The thing was me all along.
Bedtime Stories
WriterOfThought
The doll waited under the edge of the bed, wondering what story Daddy would tell tonight. He was later than usual, and Astrea never liked to be kept waiting.
The doll bravely rolled out from under the bed and peered up at its creator. Mismatched eyes pouted behind salt and pepper pigtails, and an oversized mouth with razor fangs gnawed impatiently on the blanket. It had been nearly ten minutes.
The door opened and the disheveled scientist walked through, reading glasses dangling on the edge of his nose. He pulled up a chair and sat alongside the bed, however it was more of a “fall into” than a “sit”. He sighed, he noticed the doll that had rolled from under the bed, and tucked it in next to his daughter.
“What story would you like to hear tonight, Little Star?”
Astrea thought for a moment, rubbing her knuckles into her temples.
“The one about the girl with a dragon friend,” she demanded.
Daddy lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Please,” she added from behind the blanket.
The doll loved this story. Daddy sat back and recalled it, too tired to get it off the bookshelf.
“Once Upon a Time,” as all proper stories began. “There was a young woman who was made of ink.”
Astrea listened intently. The young woman would shift and morph between forms, and Astrea imagined herself doing the same. She would get into scrapes and scuffles, and Astrea saw herself coming out victorious. Her friend was slain in battle, and Astrea wanted to give her a hug, no matter how goopy.
“But then,” Daddy said. “A strange dog came to her.” And a strange dog it was, because it turned out to really be a dragon.
Astrea felt her mouth, imagining if she had the power to make herself look… normal.
The doll looked up at her, hoping that she felt the love it had for her, like the love the dog had for the young woman.
“And they would aventure together forever and ever.”
Astrea fell asleep; the doll soon followed. Their adventures had only begun.
Meet in the Middle
By: Gala
The night was cold; silence fell with heavy snow outside.
Perfect time for a tea party! “Mom!” The word echoed through the air as glass resonated on the verge of breaking.
The Nightmare’s large ears twitched as the words hit her ears. Her cowls rose, exposing large quills. A growl escaped from her jowls as she wrestled down the horned beast, her claws slashing through it, making quick work of it. She rose, wiping the blood on her thick black fur.
Melinoe awaited with the door open for her mother. The pitch-black hairs on her muzzle tufted under a wolf’s skull. She stood back on her haunches, attempting to look
adorable, which is near impossible for a monster.
With her hands behind her back, she politely asked, “Mother, can you have a tea party with me?” her large eyes grew as she stood up hopefully.
“I would, but it is late.” Melinoe’s mother growled lowly. “I will let you play longer, but Father will be home soon.” she shut the door, returning to the beast.
Melinoe turned somewhat sadly back to the table. Feeling lonely, she sat half-heartedly, slumping into the chair. Tears started to form in her eyes as a large crash thundered from under her bed.
Cautiously she made her way to the bed. Her thick blanket draped on the floor, obscuring the view.
The crash was constant as she made her way closer. Instinctively her cowl rose. She had not come into her quills yet. But that would not stop her. She was a monster. Monsters have nothing to fear, do they? She thought as she inched closer, lifting the blanket slowly. She couldn’t see anything.
Bravely she crawled under the bed until finding a hole. She stopped, took a deep breath, and peered inside.
Looking back at her was a small girl. She wore a tall pink hat and had friendly eyes.
Both the monster and child stay staring, too scared to scream.
The little girl awkwardly asked in a stuttering voice, “T..t..tea party?”
The monster extended her hand, helping the little girl through the portal.
The Perfect Princess and the Pea
By: ErstwhileinaDayDream
It’s a perfect night for sleeping. The ceiling fan is spinning smoothly, the room is perfectly cool and I’m lying on my back for the best sleeping position.
Sleeping should be easy, but I can feel a lump poking me under the mattress. I shouldn’t bug me, Mum and Dad have looked there a thousand times. I whisper to no one, “There’s nothing under my bed.”
“Still lying?” A voice coos from beneath my bed frame. A smiling girl with too many teeth and yellow eyes crawls on the bed. Despite being skinnier than me, she weighs ten kilos when she sits on my chest. “There is something under your bed. A small empty rabbit cage.” She blinks like an owl, the frames of her eyes stretch out from the side to meet in the center. “Shame that Oreo won’t be the class pet anymore.”
“He’s not dead,” I whisper. It is my fault that he got out. But he should only be in the house. “I have all holiday to look for him.”
The yellow-eyed girl hums, “Oh yes. The same holiday when the whole family is coming. If you find him, at best you’ll be seen as an irresponsible loser who megligted a poor rabbit.”
“It’s ne-glen-ted.” It’s a word I’ve had a problem pronouncing. “No one’s going to know. I’ll find him quietly.”
“So you’re not going to help Mum cook? No piano practice that everyone is expecting? No buying Dad a set of golf clubs?” The yellow-eyed girl licks her teeth and the saliva hangs on each of her fangs. “Such a selfish bitch.”
“You’re a screw-up.” The girl exhales, her breath reeks of sour chocolates and vinegar-vomited sweets, “If you can’t do it perfectly, then why even try? If you can’t be perfect, then what’s the point of your existence?”
Tiny wimpers escape my lips until my door is gently pushed open. Mum whispers, “Ella, are you ok, love?”
The yellow-eyed girl stays where she is as Mum looks down on me. I cover my eyes, “Just a nightmare. I’m perfectly fine.”
Demon in a Bottle
By: The Missing Link
Alex dug her fingers into the shag carpet and tried to stifle a sneeze as the dust bunnies danced around her nose. Don’t make a noise. Don’t make a noise or the demon will hear it. He would apologize later, but it always scared her when he got like this.
He wasn’t always a demon, she told herself. Back before mom died, he used to laugh, but then the demon came.
Footsteps echoed from the hall, uneven, clumsy, but coming closer. Thump. Thump. Thump. And Alex’s heart caught the rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The door creaked open, killing the darkness she had grown to find comfort in. The sneeze came back to her nose and her eyes grew wide. It wasn’t going away this time. She shoved her face into the carpet and prayed to any god that would listen she wouldn’t bump the bed.
Something thumped by the side of her prison. Her grip tightened as she steeled herself to look up, sure she would find the glaring eyes of the demon staring down at her. She found no such thing, just another bottle on the floor. Alex had read that demons came in bottles in other parts of the world, gave wishes in exchange for a curse. She wondered what his wish had been.
It took her minutes to notice past her own heartbeat the footsteps had stopped. Was it safe to come out? The bed above her moaned in effort, sending her heart rocketing into her throat, but she bit her tongue to stop the scream. The demon was right on top of her, but did he know she was there? She couldn’t be sure.
It felt like hours, but she waited until she heard snoring come from above. Can’t be too safe. She carefully shuffled out from under the bed, bracing for a blow that didn’t come. She crept across the room, flinching at the sound of every loose floorboard until she found the door, still slightly ajar, and with one final heart stopping creak, she escaped her father for another night.
Uncle Austin
By Chaz Jazzman
We called him “The Monster” because he was a terrorizer. Uncle Austin had been living in our house for a year, he was here because he cannot afford his own home as he was always drunk and gambling away his money at the casino. My parents let him stay, but he was an abuser to me and my brother. When no one was around he would swing his belt at us and yell curses in a drunken, belligerent rage.
My brother, Timothy, and I decided we needed to do something about this monster living in our household. Timothy and I tiptoed down the hall and into his room. I almost laughed when I saw him. He was hammered, out cold, on top of his blanket, drooling with a flask of whisky in his hand. Timothy whispered to me, “Oh my god, look at him.”
“Shut up,” I yelled at him in a hushed tone, “Do you want The Monster to come and beat us.”
“Sorry,” Timothy replied, submissively. We both got onto the ground and army
crawled under his bed. When I got under, I heard a halt in his snoring and a sneeze, my heart skipped a beat. OMG OMG OMG, he is back to snoring, all clear.
We were now all the way under the bed and I begin to speak in a shrill, high, and scary voice. “Austin, we are those soldiers that you ‘accidentally’ killed back in Vietnam, HAHAHAHA, accidentally, as you would say, YOU KNEW JUST AS WELL HOW TO USE A GRENADE, NOW WE WILL HAUNT YOU SO YOU NEVER CAN LIVE DOWN WHAT YOU DID.”
“It was an accident, I SWEAR,” Uncle Austin breaks down. I had gained access to the military records and figured out why he had been discharged. Then, a surge of terror swelled in me as Uncle Austin’s feet hit the ground, “I KNOW YOU ARE UNDER THERE,” he lifts up the blanket hiding us under the bed.
“Uh oh,” me and Timothy said at the same time as The Monster made eye contact with us.
An infernal church is under the bed.
By Galer
Usually, when the bed monster did his shtick it would be scaring children or just messing with them, including adults.
Usually, the adults called any expert that made the monsters run away from the house after a holy object was used by an exorcist.
Usually, the Bed Monster fought the monster in the closet to either protect a child or in a court of law to get custody over the room.
Usually, the bed monster became an irritating roommate.
What wasn’t usual and what Alex wished it was, was a portal to hell being opened by his “roommate” for some reason.
“What….why!?” Alex asked, gesturing in irritation at the glow and the ominous chanting below the bed that was weirdly holy. “You think this is funny?!”
Guryos’s head manifested under the bed. Many eyes and a spider-like mouth met Alex’s face.
“One, I was getting to church late . Second, I lost the key and I don’t know how to close the doorway,” Guryos said. “Third, don’t worry. The passive souls will do nothing to you….it’s another history with the others ”
Alex just made a face. “Oh for the love of- Wait you said church?”
“Yes.”
“How does that even work? I thought you couldn’t touch anything Holly” Alex said
Guryos gave him a deadpan stare. “Remember when your father freaked out and a prayer didn’t do anything?”
“Yeah…Oh, that’s interesting” Alex admitted.
Guryos nodded his head.
“Wait is one of my aunts there?” Alex asked
Guryos shook his head, “She is not in the church if you ask”
“No, I wasn’t asking that what is she doing?” Alex asked.
“Pondering eternally what she did wrong,” Guryos responded “…she is vile”
“Well, that case of manslaughter was always suspicious,” Alex said. “Also we are going to find that key.”
Guryos just signhed in irritation and Alex grumbled.
Both could already feel this was gonna be an irritating search.
Although the chanting did soothe their nerves a bit after they found the key in the closet.
The Real Monster
By Joe
Within the safety of his private compound, Desmond Roswell felt like relaxing in his hottub under the tree with a stogie and scotch. His favorite. A personal guard and butler stood by awaiting any order he thought of, and he enjoyed that very much. Never has the life of a trafficker felt so satisfying. A working operation, men and women catering to every whim, influence over politicians and the law with the right motivation, and a home to reap the benefits without getting his hands dirty ever again.
While relaxing, he felt the whim for some music and grabbed his phone. But as soon as he grabbed it, it rang, showing the name Howard Elliott. Desmond smiled as he was about to recieve another pleasure. He swiped to pick up.
“Howard! How’s my favorite ‘motivator’ doing? Hold nothing back. I want all the deets.”
There was silence at first, then a dark voice Desmond didn’t recognize spoke with a modicum of joy. “He was fun.”
Desmond’s spine felt a jolt as he sprang up in shock. “Who is this?!” He said more panicked than intended.
“Why ask? You won’t live long enough to speak it. And as for Howard, your guard, and your butler, I picked a nice place for your…expensive view.”
Desmond looked to his butler and guard, but they were gone. Then he noticed a crimson droplet falling into his hottub. He looked up, and there were his men with their skin and entrails hanging in the branches.
Desmond stumbled back in fright, falling beneath the water. When he resurfaced, he was met with a spindly skeletal creature, hovering its head over him. He screamed. “MONSTER!!!”
“SHH!” said the creature.
Desmond abided unwillingly.
“Let me ask you, Desmond.” It prompted darkly. “What makes a monster? Is it the look?” It addressed itself. “Is it the act of killing?” It pointed to the bodies. ” Or is it…” the creature reel back and spread it’s lengthy limbs and spider-like fingers around Desmond, “the lack of REMORSE?”
Desmond was silent. He knew what came next.
“This is for them. MONSTER!”
Cleaning the Room.
By Reidrev
Uther walked up to her, placing a kind hand on her shoulder« Please, he was a traitor. You don’t have to- »
«Yes, I have to» Aléa affirmed as she entered Morgan’s room.
It was messy, filled with disorganised papers. Strategies, directives, requests, each of them a draft. The originals were sent long ago whilst those stayed to rot. Under the pile was a simple bed with a blanket haphazardly thrown and facing it, a clean bookcase perfectly organised.
Aléa sorted each document, one by one, she made the bed, and she took the books out. Tears sprouted from her eyes, seeing the cover of some of them, the books she gave as birthdays gifts.
« Aléa, stop» Uther tried again « He had it coming. He doesn’t deserve any compassion or remembrance »
She wouldn’t look at him. She just declared. « Your right Morgan deserved punishment. Punishment given by a righteous court of law and not… whatever those fraidonians have planned for him. »
She had that faraway gaze Uther saw so often with Morgan, the stare of someone hiding something. He decided to help, cleaning the dust piles under the bed. Trying not to think about the traitor too much. He still struggled to comprehend how fast it happened. Morgan was a friendly jerk, then the administration refused to let him leave the army and… he turned into a bonafide monster. One month of this before he betrayed Aléa and the whole nation.
He touched a leather binder, hidden inside a hole carved into the wooden floor. Aléa was still sorting the books. He grabbed the hand-crafted journal and opened it.
It was filled with notes and illustrations glued to the pages about otherworldly places, a valley of sand, a mountain of fire, weird scaly trees. All places Morgan couldn’t go to. Uther hid the notebook inside his bag and kept cleaning under the bed. « Sorry friend, but for our sake, stay a monster »
Desperate Search
By VTRwriter
“Where is he?!” Parisa shouted, pointing her sword to the human’s throat.
“Well, elf lady,” the human said, “I think I have the right to remain silent, don’t I?”
“Get him out of here,” she said to an officer, “and let’s search this whole house!”
Adventurers in Ituante didn’t always fight monsters, braved ruins or saved cities. Sometimes the job was to help small cities’ police to arrest criminals.
Black Bag, as the press called him, was a serial killer that preyed on children, leaving their bodies in black bags near trash containers. The last kidnapped child wasn’t found, so there was hope he hadn’t killed his victim yet. Time was short, so there was no time to interrogate the killer.
Parisa checked Black Bag’s bedroom, but there was nothing of interest. No photos, no notebooks, not even trophies of his victims. It was like a monk’s room.
She then looked at the bed in the room. Simple steel frame, heavy blankets covering it. Could it be there? In such an obvious place? Not wasting time, she flipped his bed sideways, and…
Nothing. Nothing at all. Just the wooden floor.
Unless…
The elf tapped the wooden floor where the bed was. Maybe there was a hollow place, a loose plank, something there.
She found a loose wood. She removed it.
A black velvet cloth. Just that. A useless cloth. No child. No clue. Nothing that could bring comfort to the family.
Was there no trail? Was he really that good? Where was that child? She couldn’t fail like she failed her sisters…
But there was something… She felt… magic? It felt like her purse, a micro-dimension that allowed more holding space. But it couldn’t be. How would such a spell work on a cloth?
Maybe it was like… a hole? Like in a children’s cartoon?
She stretched the velvet on the floor, and suddenly, a brief shine lit it. A hole appeared in the place. The child was there, on the bottom.
“Mommy?” the child asked weakly.
“I need medics here!” Parisa yelled. “Don’t worry, You will see mommy soon.”
Seeing it Through (Amelia)
by Lee Strangely
The tears of the sky turned the cobbled road into a watery mirror. One that shown back the faces whom all looked down on it as the procession went by. The women in grey led the line, making the path as they went. Eight carried the wooden bed that held the general’s body, while two walked ahead, opening the once silver gates as the others approached.
Once they passed through, one of the gatekeepers started walking towards the procession, only to be stopped by the other. She pulled her back, but immediately retracted her hand as it stung.
“You, you feel quite cold… You must be freezing.” she said.
“I’m alright…” the cold woman replied.
She asked softly, “You wanted to see him one last time?”
“I wanted to see if he was actually dead…”
“I know, hardly anyone can believe it…”
For a moment, there was only the sound of wind and crackling torches.
She seemed to look around before continuing, “I can’t believe it, killed by the same ice witch that killed the prince. At least he was able to kill her with his final breath.”
“Where did you hear that?” the cold woman asked.
“I heard from the soldiers,” she muttered, “that brought his body back from the mountain… Why?”
“Nothing… I just heard differently… that he attacked her, then she killed him.”
She attempted a smile, but faltered, “Either way, he at least died fighting for his kingdom.”
The cold woman ignored her as she headed towards the casket. Looking up at the corpse, she caught one of hands as it laid precariously close to the wood’s edge. Some slivers of ice still clung to his paling flesh.
The other woman then returned to her duties, heading back to close the gates. Once she moved one gate leaf, she went to the other, pausing as her hand felt a thin layer of frost over one of the bars.
She turned back to her, “I-I hope you find peace.”
The cold woman sighed, as if she had been holding her breath, “I have.”
Worms
by Sooth
Obin laid on a pile of stained, stinking sheets. His skin folded into crevices at unnatural angles as if those stale sheets wounded his flesh. Thousands of tiny, nipping bumps pocked his skin. The bed bugs were hungry. Ugly monsters. And then there was Obin, unwell, a well-deserved fate after two decades of degeneracy, anger, and slow, self-made ruin.
He observed no reason for cleaning up his mess. Could not hear the wails of a wife begging him for help. Could not feel the cold fingers of depression as they numbed him through another day of stupor.
“Father, help me,” a quiet voice pierced through the thick folds of his conscious, “I am nearly grown, and your mess has reached under my bed. Please help me remove it for soon I must leave.”
Obin looked at his daughter. Nearly sixteen. Nearly grown. He barely recognized her face but knew well the anger which sat within the deep pools of her brown eyes.
Forcing his wasted, overweight body off his bed, he stumbled towards her room. He could see a long worm stretched from his bed to her room. He hated that he’d defiled her space.
He grabbed the worm under her bed and yanked, hard. It did not budge. Grumbling, he tried again, then once more. The worm remained fixed. He looked at his daughter and swayed his head side to side, motioning for her to follow him.
Back in his room, he reached under his bed, and pulled on this side of the worm. A wet sucking sound emanated, and he pulled out a corrupted shape.
“This is my mind, corroded and black. I cannot fix your broken thoughts or take any of my horrible words or actions back. You are a child of wasted hope. Do not follow my lead.”
Obin handed her his mind then climbed back into bed. Before he woke again, she’d be grown and escaped home.
Eventually the worms grew bold and hungry. Obin, now alone, came to be consumed by his own mess.
Fragments of Fear, Whispers of Redemption
by Mason Gray
In the glacial glow of the moonlit room, the bed towered, a grim monument silhouetted by the play of darkness and light. Its oppressive presence permeated the space, whispering tales of unseen nightmares and concealed terrors. The monster, an ethereal architect of fear, sought refuge in its shadowy underbelly, orchestrating nocturnal dread with a spectral touch.
Yet, paradoxically, this nightmarish entity was itself trapped, imprisoned by an unexpected occupant dwelling beneath its bed. It was an insignificant silver beetle, silently scurrying in the labyrinthine darkness, an unwanted flatmate in this ominous setting.
Nestled close to the beetle was a box of forgotten memories – a locket, its golden sheen now tarnished, holding onto the ghost of a lost love, and faded photographs that froze joyous moments from a past that existed before the monster’s reign of fear. These were poignant echoes of when the monster wasn’t monstrous, a testament to its now-forgotten humanity.
The monster feared the beetle, not for its physical presence but for the existential dread it instilled. This tiny creature, meandering in its solitary path, became a mirror, reflecting the monstrous entity’s fallibility, its ephemeral mortality. Each insignificant movement of the beetle sent waves of terror coursing through the spectral form, a vivid reminder of its transgressions, its fallen state.
The silent hours of the night spun countless tales – of dread and loss, redemption and remorse. As dawn painted the room with its first light, the monster would recede into the shadows, leaving relics of a night of quiet terror. The beetle, a beacon from a past life and the memories it guarded, persisted under the bed – perpetual of the monster’s reign.
In the heart of even the most monstrous, a hint of humanity exists, a residue of the past that seeks absolution. After all, monsters, too, are victims, chained to their history, burdened by the weight of remorse and regret. Perhaps, it’s not our monstrous characteristics that define us, but the shared fears, the familiar dread of what lurks beneath our beds – tangible symbols of our fallibility and our unspoken yearnings for redemption.
Degeneracy Beneath the Sea
by Shinigamma
Kevin Kraken threw his schoolbag down and swam excitedly up to his room. All day, he’d been counting down the hours in class, desperate for the moment he could go home. He knew they were waiting for him under his bed… oh boy, yes. There was the door to his room; he opened it and-.
All three of his hearts skipped their beats at the sight of his mom sitting on his bed. Six of her tentacles were crossed; a seventh tapped menacingly on the floor.
“Oh, hi Mom!” gulped Kevin, “Whatcha doin’ in my room?”
Kevin’s Mom rose from the bed, glaring down at her son.
“I was cleaning your room today…” she began.
Oh no, thought Kevin, dear Elder God no…
“I went to clear out beneath your bed…”
She’s found them. Sweet Cthulu, she’s found them!
“When I found this!”
She brought out the magazine from the folds of her tentacles. On the front was a naked human female hugging a euphoric colossal squid.
“Just what kind of comics do you think you’re reading?!” Mom demanded.
“They’re not comics, that’s actually human-tai,” blurted out Kevin before he could stop himself.
Mom’s eyes widened with fury. She opened the magazine to a random page and thrust in front of Kevin.
“What on Water is she doing with her tentacles?!” she scolded.
“Humans don’t have tentacles, Mom, they have arms…” mumbled Kevin.
“I don’t care what they’re called, it’s disgraceful!” yelled Mom, “And I didn’t just find this!”
She brought out a remote control.
“No Mom!” begged Kevin, “Please, don’t play that-!”
At the press of a button, the high-pitched theme tune to ‘Swim-dere Swim-pai’ blasted through the house at full volume on Kevin’s TV.
“That octopus there!” cried Mom, “Just how old is she?”
“Mom, I can explain,” wailed Kevin, “She’s a larvae-con! She only looks 14, she’s actually 80,000 years-.”
“That does it!” shrieked Mom, “No TV, no video games, and certainly no comic books for six months! You’re seabed-ed!”
“Noooooooo!!!” howled Kevin.
No current, no winds, no light… just an ominous and menacing growl
by Aracnarquista
Logbook entry 14 – 13 days after leaving port
There is a great truth life at sea teaches every sailor: no situation is so dire that fate can’t make even worse. When first the currents stopped, we thought that was just a momentary setback. When we noticed the Beast and were tossed out of course by its powerful claws, true fear set in.
These words are written in the dark, with a trembling hand. The Beast did not to destroy our ship, but I’m reluctant to consider it a merciful outcome. It carried our vessel to this dark cave – a place way too vast, too gargantuan, to be its den.
A vast growling breaks the eerie silence and reverberates through the cave. The Beast’s Master, I presume. A monster of cyclopean proportions that my imagination dreads to picture. It must be close.
Two sea-vessels are faintly perceptible by eastboard. Of strange design, they make me question what alien worlds have our travels brought us to.
What they hint by being completely empty and silent, though… that’s what fills me with despair.
This might be my last entry in the logbook
“Your handwriting is remarkably good, Captain. But this entry is a lot more horror oriented than adventurous.”
“I thought you were on the lookout for signs of danger, Mate. How are you even able to read my notes in the dark?”
“I learned a trick or two from you, my Captain. You see, I lit an imaginary candle – bright enough for me to read, and runs no risk of burning our paper ship!”
“Are you… Well, I think I’ll consider that an improvement. We have bigger trouble to worry about, anyway.”
“That we do! Imaginary sailor or not, I’d still prefer to enjoy the night with a restful sleep. But who can take a nap with such loud snoring?”
“Snoring?”
“Yeah, no wonder the kitten left us here and darted out of the room. I just hope his owner doesn’t crush our ship while searching for his slippers in the morning. What a place to put us in!”
Evil’s Pride
By Sanguinerus
Adaleigh was a young woman of twenty-two, with blonde hair and brown eyes. She wore blue jeans, a simple white top, white trainers and a pair of sunglasses, all suitable for the summer weather.
She pulled up in her car in front of her grandfather’s house. A humble abode with white paint, eroded somewhat by the passage of time, yet well kept, considering its age.
She stepped out of her valkswagen golf and sighed, anticipating her sombre task. She fished in her pocket for the keys the lawyer had given her. Her grandfather had left everything to her in his will, which she found strange, as she had only ever met him a couple of times. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten along with anyone else in years, after coming home from the war. The warm wind blew and she doffed her sunglasses as she entered.
She started cleaning and after a while of clearing and sorting things she decided to search under her grandfather’s bed. She got on her hands and knees and peer under, spying a small wooden box underneath on the far side, up against the wall. She reached for it and was just about to grab it at arm’s length.
She sat upright and opened it with a childlike curiosity. Two small items laid inside and she gasped, dropping the box on the floor and covering her mouth with her hand. The box made a dull thud as it struck the carpet.
She was overwhelmed with unexpected emotions. Surprise, shock, disgust and horror. Though as she calmed herself down, it wasn’t just the items themselves that were so distasteful, but also the fact that he’d kept them all these years.
A plethora of questions entered her mind. Was he proud of this? Had he learned nothing? Was he so vile right up until his death? What should she do with them? Selling them didn’t feel right, she needed to destroy them.
She picked up the box once more and looked at the items again with disgust; They were iron crosses, first and second class.
Even vampires
by Reinkarnitor
Days, or rather nights like this one made Fiona wonder if she really didn’t miss being human. Everything would be so much easier. Meeting people, dentist appointments, and so on. Granted, with the invention of the internet, things like shopping have gotten less hard, but that did not change the fact that she sometimes still wished to be able to step out into the sunlight.
“You seem a bit down today, fangs” the voice of her boyfriend brought her back to reality.
“Oh…no, no” she quickly answered him.
“You know, you don’t have to act so tough all the time…you can tell me when something’s bothering you.”
The vampire hesitated. Decades of being on her own did not really help sharpen her social skills…at least not in the category of opening up.
“I…I just sometimes have moments when I miss being…human” she then reluctantly admitted.
“I see.”
There was no ‘But you are a cool vampire’, or ‘Nonsense, you are super strong now’ or anything like that. Just as she expected from John, he simply nodded and accepted what she said.
“I won’t say that I’m able to completely understand, since I am not a vampire myself…but I at least get where you are coming from” he explained. “You once said that you would tell me how you turned, whenever you’re ready, and I promised that I will listen when the time comes. That has not changed.”
The young man embraced Fiona, and the vampire did the same. After a while she finally calmed down again and the two pulled apart slightly.
“Thank you, John.”
“Any time, fangs.”
They smiled at each other.
“So…” he then realized “…even vampires have things that make them feel like this.”
“Everyone has a monster under their bed, John.”
“Well…you have a coffin so…”
Fiona chuckled and pushed him away playfully.
“You know what I mean, dummy!” she said with a grin.
“Yeah” he chuckled. “I know. But don’t worry. I’d even lift your coffin to draw the monsters out, if I have to.”
She smiled.
“I’ll probably take you up on that…someday.”
Evil angel
By Tamela Redfin
Lisa stared at her new boss, Augen with his assistants David and Babs. “So did you get your revenge?”
“Damn right I did! Cora couldn’t stop crying.” Augen winked. “She’s all ‘What did you do to my daughter?’”
“Wait, what did you do?” Lisa asked.
Turned her into a cyborg named Corlita. Then when her mother says her name, she’s reminded of her choices. If she won’t get rid of it…”
“The bitch is pregnant too?” Babs scoffed. “Stupid cow, but what else could we expect from Cora?”
Lisa stared at the three. Sure, Cora shouldn’t have cheated, but that had to be too far.
Augen laid an arm on Lisa. “Lisa, don’t worry. Cora deserves it. She shouldn’t have been a cheater.”
“Augen’s right.” David nodded.
Lisa left the room and just sat there on her bed, since she now lived there. How could anyone hurt their daughter like that? Given she didn’t have a mother, or one she knew, but she assumed a mother loved their child.
Then Augen mentioned his mother wanted him dead so…. There was that.
“Lisa?” Augen called out, sounding quite sad.
“What is it?” She replied as he entered.
“I left something under your bed. There are old photos of my old assistant, Iris Sakamoto.”
“Why is she on a full name basis?” Lisa asked.
Augen shrugged and dove under the bed. A picture slipped out and Lisa picked it up. She gasped seeing it. They looked similar. Iris was a pale skinned woman with almond shaped eyes, and light violet hair.
The only difference being Lisa’s eyes being lilac and Iris’s being hazel and she was a bit bustier.
This couldn’t be a coincidence. Did Augen… also really like women on the southeastern side of Periodica like her and Iris? She had heard of men having…fetishes of such women.
Lisa felt sick all over, her stomach sloshed and her head aching.
Augen crawled out. “Ah, found it. Thank you Lisa. I love working with you.”
The Pig Farm
By MasaCur (CW: Abduction, implied torture. Please do not read on stream)
Betty slowly came to, face down on a hardwood floor. She couldn’t move; something bit into her wrists as she tried to pull her hands out front. She turned her head to see where she was, and it felt like her head was still turning when she brought her cheek flat to the floor.
A pair of work boots walked away from her, caked in mud and feces. Slowly, the man inside the boots became visible. Tall, balding, dressed in coveralls. He approached a nearby bed.
Outside, she could hear the grunting of pigs.
“Where…where am I?” Betty asked.
The man looked back at her. “You’re awake already, huh?” he grunted. His face expressed contempt. He turned, and grabbed the bedframe with one hand, lifting it upward, pivoting it into the wall. The man knelt on the floor and pulled open a bolt, then lifted open a trapdoor.
In the thick soup of Betty’s consciousness, she started to realize she was in danger.
“Please, let me go! I won’t say anything!” The words creaked from her throat, like sandpaper on her vocal cords.
The man didn’t respond. He walked over and grabbed her around the waist, then threw her over his shoulder.
“No! Nononononono!” Betty cried.
Outside the pigs started squealing.
“Shut up!” the man growled. “You’re upsetting my hogs.”
Betty sobbed as the man descended the stairs.
He chained her round the neck to the stone wall, then pulled out a knife. Betty let out a scream.
“It’s not time for hurting you yet!” the man snarled. “Keep quiet, or I’ll tape your mouth shut!” He cut the zip tie from her wrists, then, holding her arms in his powerful grasp, he chained her hands to the wall as well.
“Please! Let me go. I just want to see my mom and dad,” Betty cried.
The man turned and walked up the stairs.
“What are you going to do to me?”
The man turned back. “Nothing nice. Not for you anyway.”
He shut the trapdoor, engulfing Betty in darkness.
She could hear the bed lower to the floor.
Under the world,under the bed
By AspenWF
Ever wonder what monster children are afraid of? What’s under their beds? Honestly you don’t want to know. Some people might think, probably humans,but no,it’s much,much worse at least from a monster childs standpoint.
Let’s take a look,down, down we go shrinking smaller and smaller into the monster realm, below our bed, down through the monster child’s bedroom and under their beds, I do hope you are prepared. It’s nothing like you would expect,it’s not dust bunnies or lost socks for sure.
Looking around we see purple rolling hills , sunlight and bright flowers, a bit odd for sure, then something large and fluffy flashes by us. Whatever it is it is definitely something fuzzy. We crane our necks to see,when out of nowhere we are pounced upon from behind and knocked to the ground.
Looking up at what knocked us down there’s a horde of huge kittens,cute little bright blue anime type cat eyes, the kind that make you say aww. The kittens lay down upon us, purring and kneading the ground . We are pinned but all we can do is smile because the kittens are so cute.
Hearing a sound we look up around the kittens to see a monster child peeking upside down under the bed screaming for dad because there is something scary under the bed. A parent can be heard in the distance,”go to sleep Malachi, there’s nothing under the bed. ”
Eventually Malachi can be heard rocking themselves and crying in the middle of the bed before they turn the lights on and run to their parents bedroom with their stuffed monster doll.
We begin to head back, up and up we go,back to our world ,well now you know,you know what terrifies monster children. Cute,fluffy kittens.
Why Not?
By Marx
Matt slowly opened his eyes, furrowing his brows at the cause of his interrupted slumber. “You do realize I know you’re there, right?”
The only response was a high-pitched giggle from under the couch.
“Look, I’ve had a very long day. Whatever this is and whoever you are, could you please just… not?”
Another giggle. “She can ‘not’. She can ‘not’ all her Master wishes. She shall remain here and ‘not’ until the end of time.”
Matt let out a long sigh as he peered under the couch. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“She is Not. Just as her Master wished her to be.”
Matt sighed again. “I’m not your Master. And I’m quickly losing my patience. I’m giving you one more chance to answer me.”
In a flash, she was no longer under the couch but floating above him with a huge grin on her face. “Well, the last thing she wishes is to anger him. She wishes to serve him. Her name is Mania! Unless he wishes it to be Not. Then her name is Not.”
After an uncomfortably long pause, Matt sighed a third time. “Nope. Not dealing with an insanity deity right now. Leave.”
Mania flipped upside down and continued to hover. “He stated that he is not her Master and therefore to not follow his orders. Also, she is the goddess of insanity AND death, she’d have him know.”
Matt facepalmed with a loud groan. If Mania was a death deity, that explained everything. She was attracted to his title. But before he could respond, she’d vanished again and he felt her face buried in his hair, deeply inhaling.
“He smells like Deeeeeeath! He’s been in Death’s presence! What’s Death like? Is Death pretty? Is Death a good kisser? She’s always imagined Death as a good kisser.”
“I, Death’s horseman, with the authority of that title, banish you, Mania, from the premises until I’ve finished sleeping. Only then will we… discuss whatever this is.”
Mania had enough time to pout, before vanishing in another burst of light as Matt went back to sleep.
Are you there, Bogeyman? It’s me, Crona Macneary. (Darkspell Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)
“Yeah, I can see you!” Crona Macneary called, sounding bored. “Right there, behind the door.”
Behind the ‘door’ a shadow shifted and eight eyes gleamed at her. A long, hairy leg extended, followed by another and then another, until a massive tarantula crawled into the light, venom dripping from its mandibles. Crona responded by doing the one thing any bogeyman feared more than anything else.
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re not even trying, are you,” she said.
“Oh, you’ll know when I’m trying.”
The bogeyman grew in size, shadows moving out from him like tentacles. The now massive tarantula moved ahead like a predator, its mandible clicking.
Crona just stood there, watching the display in front of her. Her arms were crossed, her expression the ultimate cold shoulder. Her head cocked to one side.
“What was that about trying?” Crona, the half-bogeyman, said. “I don’t like bullies, even if I’m technically related to them. I especially don’t like stupid bullies. They bore me.”
She returned to her original size, a toothpick in her mouth, her face a mask of apathy staring down the very much confused bogeyman.
“See,” Crona said, as the continued walking towards him. “I don’t really care for spiders, so that was your third mistake. Your second mistake was thinking you could bully me. And your first mistake, was forgetting that the child upstairs is under my protection.”
She pointed up, where the underside of the bed was located. The bogeyman shifted into a hooded thing engulfed in shadows, showing Crona her own twisted face.
“Fourth mistake,” she hissed, still striding towards him.
She looked utterly unimpressed, as she grabbed the bogeyman by the collar, dragging him out of the pocket dimension, with the same expression she wore, when helping her nieces with their homework.
About a minute later, she crawled out from under a child’s bed, shaking off a cobweb. When was the last time anyone had cleaned down there?
She looked down at her four-year-old niece and patted her on the head.
“Sleep well, little monster. I’ll keep an eye out for the big monsters.”
Security Check [A Devil’s Tale/Koshdelia Ever After]
C. M. Weller
The world could be terrifying to a four-year-old. Even a four-year-old who, by technicality, was also a monster. The young Viscount Kormwind tried again to have less terror. Even little monsters had their fears.
“Nani? Please check for monsters under the bed?”
“No,” she snapped. “There is only ONE monster in this room, and my time with him is done.” She swept out of the room and out of sight.
Which left his bodyguard. “Bothari?”
“It’s forbidden, my lord. I shall watch over you until you’re sound asleep, and then I must sleep too.”
Thirty-and-five years passed between that night and this, and the perspective changed vastly with it. The view from the other side was dizzying as he tucked his sons into their bed.
“Papa? Please check for monsters under the bed?” said Kormwind the tenth.
He was down there instantly. “Just the chamber pot and your dear old da, my loves.” He clambered back out, and remembered the trinket he’d found in the markets. It was still in his pocket. “Here. This little stone will light up if you tap it three times.” Kosh let Korm Ten and Bene try it. “And as a bonus, the light drives away ANY cruel monsters in the immediate area.” He helped them put it on their bedside table, and kissed their blue brows. “I used to be scared in the night,too.”
“How did you win?” asked Bene.
“I got scarier than the night,” he whispered. “It happens in the fullness of time as little Teufellen grow up into big Teufellen. And that won’t happen without a good sound sleep. So start dreaming.”
These boys would not be left alone to be afraid of the greys of night, or how the world vanished in the dark. Kosh nodded to their night nurse as he left their chamber. She was there to see to their needs when he could not.
Even little monsters had their fears.
The little princes would not have his childhood woes. No nightmares left unsoothed, no terrors left lingering, and no torments by monsters under the bed.
Don’t Wait Up (Chronicles Of The Dragon)
By Makokam
Jonathan silently climbed in through the window to his room. He paused and, not hearing anyone awake, sighed and started removing his bloody and burned clothes. He took a cleaner bit of his shirt to wipe off the worst of the blood from his face, before kicking his clothes under his desk. He’d deal with those later.
What he needed right now was a shower.
He went to the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Then started scrubbing the blood, and the smell of smoke and burnt flesh off of him.
Stepping out of the shower, the water quickly steaming off of him, Jonathan went to the mirror. Checking for hard to hide injuries, he found only a faint burn on his neck, and some superficial scratches on his lower legs. The bullet and stab wounds on his torso were easy, but the hole in his forearm meant long sleeves would be a must for a couple days.
He leaned on the sink, staring into the mirror. It was meant to be a simple hunting trip in the next town, but he’d put it off for too long. He got careless. Too excited.
Things got messy. And loud.
He shook his head, then went back to his room.
An old set of pajamas would suffice for tonight and the morning. After that-
“Snrrk mep”
He whirled, looking around his room. The noise had come from his bed. Jonathan crouched down and found his little sister curled up and asleep.
“Hey,” he said softly, nudging her with his hand, “Wake up.”
She squirmed and stretched before opening an eye.
“What are you doing under there?”
She rubbed at her eyes. “I was gonna scare you.” She looked up at him. “Boo.”
“Gah,” he said sitting back. She smiled and he reached a hand out. “C’mon, let’s get you into your bed.”
She reached out her hand and he pulled her out, then picked her up. She immediately put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, as he carried her to her room.