He hadn't checked yet, but Tom knew there was something under the bed. Whether it was a man, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if he would prefer it to be a human under the bed, because it might have been something much, much worse.

Tom didn't sleep that night, but when dawn came he knew he had to get up. Slowly, he sat up and inched closer to the edge of the bed. As the fear grew and grew, he leaped off of the bed and ran to the door of his room, not checking behind, pretending not to listen to the scratching that was coming from the bed. He wrestles the door open and jumps through, slamming it behind him. He slides down the door and curls into a ball at the foot of it, eyes tightly closed. The scratching stops and Tom is alone again. Alone.

The stairs creak as Tom walks down them. Careful, careful, he thinks. He wouldn't want to wake any other horrors that may be awaiting him. He laughs aloud at his own foolishness, but stops because the echoes his voice starts unsettle him. After what feels like millenia, Tom reaches the bottom of his stairs. He pads into the living room and stops. There is a handprint on the floorboards, near enough to the sofa for an arm to reach out from underneath and make it there. Tom walks backwards back into the hallway and retreats to the kitchen. Tom turns to face the wide expanse of the kitchen, and notices the reflective surface of the oven, which he covers up immediately with the tablecloth. Tom is already scared enough, and he doesn't need his fears of whatever is on the other side of the mirror to add to it. He walks to the fridge for some milk and opens it. Out of his vision, a deathly white hand emerges from the small, dark space underneath the fridge. It begins to stroke the toes of Tom's shoes. Tom, unknowing, takes a drink of the milk and reaches back into the fridge to put it back and freezes as he feels something on his ankle. slowly, slowly, Tom looks down. the edge of his vision hits the bottom shelf of the fridge, the edge of it, and then the bottom. He sees only his feet, and the blackness under the fridge. There's nothing there. "but there was", Tom speaks aloud. His lonely voice unsettles him again.

He realises he needs to call someone for help, and remembers that his phone is in his room. Tom grabs a knife and heads upstairs, to find his phone, and possibly, the man under his bed.

Tom reaches his room, knife in hand, and opens the door. Just a normal room. Except for the eyes under his bed. That's not normal. Tom brandishes the knife at the eyes but they don't flinch. They don't even blink. They simply stay there, watching... not him. As Tom moves towards the table, where his phone is, the eyes stay watching slightly to the left of the doorway. staring at some unseen object, some unseen.. no. Tom doesn't want to think about it. He just focusses on his phone, watching the still eyes all the time. He looks away to pick his phone up and notices that he's recieved no new calls, or texts. For once, he has full signal. Someone appears to be on his side. He glances over his shoulder at the underneath of his bed and goes cold. The eyes are back on him. It's hard to restrain himself from fleeing the room but somehow, Tom manages to slowly walk out of the room and shut the door, the eyes watching him all the time. Tom stands still outside the closed door, relieved that he got his phone and got back out again, but he can still feel the eyes boring through the wood. Watching. Waiting for him to slip up. He checks his phone again. Full signal. Time to make a call.

He hits the address book button, and dials the first number. Adam. Puts the phone to his ear. Ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Static. Next number. Alex. Ringing. Ringing. Static. This time, Tom dials 999. Ringing. Someone picks up. "Oh thank God." Tom exhales. "listen, i don-" "SOON" a voice bellows back. The phone cuts off. Tom stares at the screen. No signal. Fuck.

The thought hits Tom hard. Outside. "fuck", he says aloud. why didn't he think of it before? He runs downstairs and flings open the door. Late evening. Not a lot of light left, but enough to get to the police station. Tom walks out into the night and looks down the street. Quiet. a few people in the distance but nothing to worry about. Parked cars all the way down the road, no cars or bikes driving down the road. He walks towards the far away people, hoping they can help. Tom opens his mouth to shout.An arm flies out from under the car, grabbing his ankle and tripping him up. Tom hits the floor and the wind is knocked out of him. He stretches his head to look under the car and sees the eyes. But this time, something is different. This time, there's a mouth below the eyes. The mouth opens. "Gotcha", the mouth says. Tom's eyes close.

Tom opens his eyes. He's in a bed, in a white room, where a man in a long white coat is looking down at him with a pleased look on his face. "Ah, you're awake" says the man "you suffered quite a bad fall, my friend. Your head hit the ground and knocked you unconscious, it seems." "what." Tom responds. The doctor merely smiles. "two people saw you go down when you were walking down the road yseterday. they saw that you didn't get up so they called the ambulance, which took you to hospital, where you are now. Of course, it's ok now you've woken up, no major damage. I'll just inform a nurse to come in and check on you, then i'll discharge you." The doctor rushes off briskly, before Tom can get a single word in. Confused and muddled up by just regaining consciousness, Tom gets out of the bed to see where he is. Instantly, two hands shoot out from under the bed. One grabs his leg and one his arm, Pulling him down to the floor. The bottom half of his body disappears underneath the bed and Tom recalls everything. He begins to cry out, but catches sight of the eyes and the mouth. The cry chokes in his throat. Fixated by the disembodied eyes and mouth, Tom can only watch in horror as the mouth opens, and the voice from under the car and through the phone says "You can't get away from me that easily, my boy. Why, i'm not even half done with you yet." This time, Tom gets the cry out of his mouth. This time, nobody comes to help him.

The End

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