“The Thing Under Ellie’s Bed”
Ellie was six when she first told her parents about the thing under her bed.
“They said not to tell you,” she whispered one night at dinner.
Her mother laughed, nervously. “Who said that, sweetie?”
“The feet,” Ellie replied. “They whisper when I’m almost asleep.”
Her parents chalked it up to nightmares. Kids go through phases. Monsters under the bed, imaginary friends — it was normal. But the next morning, her father found deep scratch marks under Ellie’s mattress. Like claws.
The room was locked. The window was shut. There was no way in or out.
Still, they ignored it. Until Ellie stopped sleeping. Her eyes went hollow, ringed with purple. She flinched at shadows. She began speaking to things that weren’t there.
A rancid, earthy stench, like rot and wet fur. It crept into the hallway outside her room and never left. Her dog refused to enter the room, growling at the bed every night.
Then one night, Ellie vanished.
No broken windows. No signs of struggle. Just an impression on the mattress… like something had slithered in next to her.
They tore up the house. Police searched for weeks. Nothing.
Months later, the new owners moved in. They found a note tucked into a crack in the wall beside the bed frame.
It was written in a child’s shaky scrawl.
"It said if I told, it would take you too."
