Most people think I'm crazy, always have. I mean what person in their right mind believes in monsters, especially after the age of 5. Well at the age of 16, 17 in a few weeks, I did. I knew they were real, there was no doubt in my mind, because there was one hiding under my bed.
As far back as I could remember he had been there. Hiding in the darkness under my bed. At first I had been terrified, screamed for my parents every night, begging to sleep with them in their bed. They had let me, for a while at least, but in the end they had put a stop to it. Probably because I would still scream and yell, telling them that the monster had followed us and was now under their bed. No matter where I went, be in another room, a friends house, even on holiday, he was always there.
My parents had taken me to see numerous doctors hoping that one of them would have the answer, know what was wrong with me, with my mind. One doctor said that I had an over active imagination, another said I was seeking for attention, others just said I was delusional. After those doctors failed to come up with any answers to satisfy my parents they seeked help elsewhere, hypnotherapists, wiccans, anything.
I once has to spend the night at a sleep clinic so these people from a university could monitor my sleep. I was only 8, they stuck wires all over my head and hooked me up to this machine. I remember the room being cold and smelling like chemicals. I didn't like it. The place gave me the creeps.
Once again he was there, I could sense him lurking below in the darkness. I began to scream for help, banging on the door for them to let me out but all that happened was two guys came in and strapped me down on the bed before placing the wires I had ripped off in my panic back on.
Not long after I heard him speak...
He had never said a thing to me before, always remained silent, he was just a presence I sensed. But now a voice rose from under the bed, a strong masculine voice that strangely didn't scare me in the slightest.
"You do know you brought this on yourself right? Probably best if you stop with all the screaming and get used to the fact that I'm going nowhere."
After that we spoke every night. I was still nervous, unsure if I could trust him. Infact I wasn't even sure if the voice wasn't just a figment of my imagination, but over time I came to trust him, to believe in him.
I stopped yelling, my parents finally getting some sleep at night, though they still sent me to be looked at. It took a while but in the end he convinced me that it was best to make them think I didn't believe in monsters anymore and once I had convinced them they stopped searching for answers. Though they did make me visit a psychiatrist for a number of years after.
Now just two weeks before my 17th birthday I still talked with the monster under my bed, my parents none the wiser. But he wasn't a monster to me anymore. He was my friend... my best friend.