There’s something on top of my bed. I can hear it writhing around in the dark. When the moon is at its highest it starts moaning drearily. It scares me: that there could be something up there, ready to maul me at any moment.

Sometimes it whispers “Hello?”
I can’t reply. My heart sticks onto my tongue and stops the words. It could be testing me, whatever it is. Could be trying to lure me out of my safe hideaway, here, under the bed, surrounded by blankets and old toys.

Are they its toys? I can’t remember. Sometime it throws stuff at me. Throws it into my den.
And then it peers through my blanket curtain and forces me to retreat from the warmth into the harsh cold of the outside room, then leaves and makes under the bed a little bit colder.

I don’t like it. It scares me. It knows I’m here, and one day, when it least expects it, I’m gonna take revenge for all the fear.
Revenge on the monster on top of my bed.