Chapter 1
Story #1 —
The Thing Beneath My Bed
I could hear it breathing.
That was the first problem.
The second was that I lived alone.
The breathing came from beneath my bed—slow, wet, and patient.
I lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling.
Inhale.
A pause.
Exhale.
My fingers tightened around the knife beneath my pillow.
“Very funny,” I whispered.
The breathing stopped.
For three seconds, there was nothing.
Then something beneath my bed whispered my name.
Not my nickname.
Not the name my friends called me.
My full name.
The name my mother had given me before she disappeared.
I sat up.
And the thing beneath the bed laughed.
Then my bedroom door slowly opened behind me.
I didn’t turn around.
Because whatever was standing in the doorway whispered—
“Don’t look at it.”
