“Come on little buddy,” the voice underneath my bed pleads. “Just come down here, it’s great. Like a party. We’ve got games and toys and every TV show you could want.”
“I’m not coming,” I say stubbornly. “I know what you want. You’re a liar, god fucking dammit! You ate Jonas, he was my best friend. You stripped him limb by limb as he begged for his life, you think I forgot that? And besides, your ‘temptations’ are outdated.” The monster doesn’t reply, stubborn bastard that he is.
“Thad, what’s that light under your bed,” I still hear Jonas say in my dreams, the last words he spoke. I roll over and try to sleep again. The psychologists said the monster would go away when I got older, when I got to the end of high school. My 28th birthday was last month though, and it’s still under my bed. The monster doesn’t care where I am, or how long it’s been, just where I sleep. Sometimes Jonas is down there with it too. They really want me to join the party.