Monster Under My Bed, Vol. 1

Chapter 1

A Very Bad Idea

Ishouldn’t have let this man into my bedroom. I’m courting danger, but I can’t help myself.

I could blame the idiocy on the fact my parents died when I was a baby.

I could rationalize that scraping by day to day with an absolute shit job has driven me to desperation.

Maybe I’m just not a good person, and that’s why I invited this random guy home.

No matter the reason, the need to act out overwhelms me with hot whips of resentment and long suppressed anger. Bitterness at how my life has turned out. Fury over being abandoned by the one I thought would never leave me, when everyone else had.

I’m lashing out and this guy in the rumpled tee with glassy, bloodshot eyes is in danger. He doesn’t even know it.

It’s hard to ignore the unpleasant bristle of his beard against my sensitive flesh. The smell of vodka oozes from his pores and sweaty, thick hands reach for my top. He rips my shirt overhead, leaving me in my bra. Goose pimples rise across my arms and stomach as soon as I’m exposed.

I’ve never brought a man back to my place. I never let anyone get this close to me. With good reason. It puts them in danger.

This feels wrong. All wrong. But the vanilla vodka shots I took at the bar down the street somewhat dull my revulsion as I kiss him again. Numb warmth wrapped around my body hours ago, allowing me to go through with this. I don’t normally drink either, but tonight I’m not myself.

His lips are earnest and sloppy, but I treat it like any other task. Like tending to the numerous toilets I clean all day. Like vacuuming floors, this is just another task. Just another way to get through the day.

Life has made me mean and selfish. Bringing him here is either evidence that my humanity has been ground out of me or that I’m truly desperate.

I am desperate. Desperate to be cared for. But not by this guy. I want to capture the attention of someone impossible and terrifying in his greatness.

Hands roughly knead my breasts through the thin, shiny bra—a thrift store find chosen precisely to bait an unsuspecting mark for my vengeful scheme.

"You’re so hot," he whispers. What’s his name again? "I love how long your hair is. It’s so pretty and dark. And your scar is so cool."

I cringe at hearing his voice. My fingers cover his mouth, signaling I don’t want him to speak again.

I never let anyone get close enough to see the peculiarities that set me apart—like the striking emerald green of my eyes that some have said are too vibrant to be natural.

His fingers rub over the red vein-like lines that branch out from my neck down my left shoulder before dipping over my breasts.

Doctors say it’s a birthmark, though it looks like I’ve been struck by lightning and left with a scar.

My skin is so pale it’s damn near translucent, which makes the fern pattern stand out even more.

The guy’s shirt goes over his head and falls on my bedroom floor.

I briefly wonder if a cockroach will nest in it.

My landlord pretends to listen, but I’ve been boiling in my apartment with a broken thermostat.

I can’t get my window to open, and every day I have to hopscotch around the big fat pests.

Either this guy—whose name I forgot—doesn’t care about the state of my shitty apartment, or he is too drunk to notice.

The backs of my knees hit the bed, and a thrill shoots up my stomach. Not because of the man whose hands are fumbling with the latch at the back of my bra.

No. My heart picks up speed because of the bed itself. Of what it means. Of what it could bring.

A draft sweeps across the room, caressing my legs. A familiar chill creeps up my spine. The wind didn’t breeze in from the window. It came from under my bed.

The spike of adrenaline cuts through the liquor-fueled haze and suddenly I’m too aware of what I’m doing. Guilt clogs up my throat.

All I can think is this is wrong. All wrong.

A flicker in the periphery of my vision catches my attention—a shadow that seems to move against the light filtering in from the next room. But when I look again, there’s nothing.

I try to push the guy away, but somehow end up falling back on the bed myself.

He instantly scrambles on top. His weight is suffocating, and with each passing second, panic rises in me.

He managed to get the bra undone, but the straps are trapped around my shoulders.

The broken cups tangle up over my nipples.

His coarse chest hair grates against my bare skin, causing my stomach to lurch with nausea.

"No," I murmur against his amorous kisses. My knee moves, trying to wedge between his hardness and my center.

"Relax, baby girl," he moans, pushing my protective leg away and grinding harder. "Jimi will take care of you so good."

Bile rises at the back of my throat as ice cold reality washes over me. How could I have been stupid enough to put myself in this position?

Because I was desperate to see him? Because I wanted to provoke him? Because I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t crazy?

I am crazy. Putting myself in this position proves it.

"Get off," I say, finally voicing my needs.

Jimi lifts up, his brow knitting. "What’s wrong?"

"We have to stop." My hands push against his chest, but he’s too heavy.

He shakes his head, brows still knitted in confusion. Rocking his hips, he asks, "Doesn’t that feel good? Don’t you want this hard dick, baby?"

Out of the corner of my eye, a change in the room’s darkness catches my attention. An inky shadow stretches out, creeping from beneath my bed. I try to convince myself it’s the vodka playing tricks on my perception, but the shadow persists.

This isn’t a mere trick of the light or my overactive imagination.

Adrenaline spikes through my body. Oh God. It worked. It actually fucking worked.

The clumsy movements of Jimi above me, his uncomfortable weight, it all fades into the background. The captivating spectacle of the elongating shadow dominates my attention.

It advances up the far wall, its inky blackness spreading, permeating the room with a pulsating fury. It radiates outward in a wave of icy hate. My heart pounds in response, fear gripping me tight, so I can’t pull my gaze away.

Adrenaline rushes through me as long-hidden memories awaken. The terrors of my childhood, yes, but also the fascination, the anticipation, the reckless longing. I recognize this presence. He has come for me. Just as I secretly hoped he would.

This time I slam my hands into Jimi’s chest. "You need to go. Now."

"Hey," he protests at my rough push. "No need to get violent. Damn."

"Get off her." A dissonant voice speaks in a low unnatural timbre. It sends shivers rippling up my spine as panic explodes in my brain.

Just as Jimi twists around to see who has spoken, his body is yanked off mine. He bellows as he collides with the ceiling. Then he’s launched sideways until he slams into the wall and drops to the floor like a large sack of potatoes.

An angry knock on the thin wall, along with a muffled angry yell to be quiet comes from my neighbor.

My voice freezes in my throat as my fingers dig into my sheets, unable to do anything but watch. Jimi scrambles to his knees at the end of my bed. I can see the whites of his wild eyes as he searches the room.

"Run," I tell him in a shaky whisper.

But it’s too late. The massive shadow emerges, separating itself from the darkness of the room until it is its own entity. Jimi turns to stone, eyes bulging from his skull.

Knees pulled up, I clutch the bra to my chest with one hand. Heat razes my bare skin, boiling me in shame, knowing he sees what I’ve done.

"What the—" Jimi says in awe, before he is whipped off the floor again. Suspended in the air, he faces the dark mass. Jimi’s hands claw at the shadowy tendrils wrapped around his throat while he chokes and sputters.

"No one touches her," the monster hisses in his face.

A musty smell blooms. Jimi pissed himself.

Power surges in the room, threatening to explode and unleash its destructive force. I know what’s coming. I’ve witnessed it before.

Launching forward onto my knees, still on the bed, I reach out a hand to stop him. "Don’t. Let him go." My voice grates across my throat like a piece of broken glass along a bed of sand.

The energy ceases to build as the shadow tilts its head in my direction.

"Please." The word escapes my lips in a shaky whisper.

For a long moment, the creature doesn’t move. Jimi continues to sluggishly struggle. Any fight is slowly but surely being squeezed out of him. I shake where I’m perched on the bed, my nerves on fire with the terrifying thrill of what’s unfolding before my eyes.

The monster snaps into action. The tendrils holding Jimi shoot out of my room, whisking my ill-advised hookup with them.

A door creaks open.

Jimi’s strangled cries are cut off by the sound of my front door slamming shut.

The angry knocking and yelling resumes from the next apartment. But I’m not scared of Elijah Cohen or his chain-smoking wife. I am caught in breathless anticipation and terror over the powerful entity I’ve knowingly summoned into my bedroom.

The monster remains where he is, and though I cannot see his eyes or any defining features of his face, I know he is intently scrutinizing me.

I feel it press against my flesh with insistent, probing heat.

Tingling zings of embarrassment flood my body and cheeks.

Nails dig into my chest where I’m holding the bra up to cover my breasts.

My breathing is labored, my body humming with a potent mix of fear and excitement so intense I don’t dare move or blink, afraid I might shatter the moment.

One of the tendrils picks up Jimi’s discarded shirt, lifting it into the air between us. Before my eyes, the fabric blackens and crumbles into dust.

In an instant, the monster who emerged from under my bed materializes beside me. His gaze burns into the side of my face. Hot energy pulses between us without warning. I can’t stop myself from trembling as waves of electricity course through my body.

My lids flutter shut, as one of those long tendrils caresses my bare throat with a velvet touch.

The creature’s cold mocking voice pierces through me like a blade. "Did you miss me, Evie?"