By Chuck McKenzie

Tim lay on his side, staring into the darkness, one foot poking slightly over the edge of the bed, tensed and ready to be jerked back under the quilt if —

You’re too old for this, he scolded himself. You’re nearly twelve!

God, I need to pee!

So go pee!

I can’t!

FOR GOD’S SAKE — THERE’S NOTHING THERE!

He could feel it, though. Down there, pressed into the too-thin space between the mattress-frame and the cold floorboards. 

And he knew it could feel him, too.

He jiggled his foot nervously, trying to distract himself from the pressure in his bladder.

Stop being a baby! Just do it! Swing your feet out, plant them firmly on the floor, walk to the door, turn on the light, and just go down the hallway to the toilet!

But —

There’s nothing under the bed!

He waited. For something. Anything. Some confirmation from the room around him that his childish fears were utterly unfounded. 

The darkness lay still and silent, refusing to either affirm or refute.

Tim groaned softly in frustration, thrusting his hands firmly against his crotch, pressing against his penis through the material of his thermal pyjamas; something he’d done as a very young child in an often-pointless attempt to prevent himself from wetting the bed.

Get up, stupid! There’s nothing there!

But what if there is??

THERE ISN’T!

The Thing Under The Bed wasn’t real. He knew that. But he also knew that if he kept his feet safely on top of his mattress, The Thing Under The Bed would never get the opportunity to reach out and grab his ankles.

God, I really need to go! 

He drew his foot back under the quilt and crossed his legs, fidgeting desperately. Get out of bed and go pee! Get out, get out —

“Get out!” he hissed softly.

Something shifted. 

Tim sat bolt upright, wincing painfully as the action further compressed his bladder. There had been no physical movement, nor any discernible sound, but something in the feel of the room had suddenly changed. An abrupt reversal of tone. As if…

Tim mentally fumbled for a moment, trying to sort the sensory jumble into a coherent thought.

It was, he finally resolved, as if something in the room — or of the room — had drawn back, draining from the darkness, but especially from the darkness at the side of the bed where Tim would have had to place his feet against the floor. There was a — Tim furrowed his brow — a sudden lack of presence where he had sensed a presence for as long as he could remember, back into early childhood, and almost certainly even before that. 

For the first time in his life, the room felt…safer.

But not yet wholly safe.

He held his breath a moment, thinking. Then:

“Get out!” he hissed again, louder this time.

Another immediate shift. The cloying weight of the darkness in front of his face seemed to ease, retreat further, driven back by Tim’s words. 

Tim cleared his throat.

“Get out!” he commanded firmly in a loud stage whisper. “Get OUT! Get OUT from under my bed! GET OUT!!”

And suddenly, just like that —

— it was gone.

Tim hesitated, then tentatively peeked over the side of his bed, eyes squinting against the dark, looking straight down at the floor.

Nothing. But a nothing that no longer felt occupied. It was just a space now; he could feel it. An empty space; ordinary and uninhabited.

Tim exhaled slowly, eyes wide, his chest swelling with elation.

It’s gone!

I made it go!

I told it to get out, and it got! I beat it! I won! I WON!!  There’s nothing under the bed —

The mattress shifted gently as something slid into bed just behind him, nestling up to Tim under the quilt. A soft, frigid breath tickled the nape of his neck.

At that, his bladder let go, the scalding urine utterly failing to ward off the sudden glacial chill of the bedclothes, and it dimly occurred to Tim that a vacated tenant would of course immediately seek alternate lodgings.

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