Sea of Nightmares

The Monster Under The Bed

The following story contains graphic language, sexual situations, and violence.

The sounds of a bustling hospital wrapped me in a blanket of familiarity as I dodged doctors and nurses running toward victims of a gruesome accident. The hospital’s first floor was the emergency room, and you never really know what will greet you as you walk in. I gave a sympathetic smile to the nurses at the front desk as they looked in horror at all the people being rushed in on gurneys. I took a deep breath once I reached the elevator. It’s usually pretty quiet around here. This is definitely not how I wanted to start my shift, but the staff entrance was closed for maintenance. I stepped onto the elevator, pushed my floor, and then fiddled with my hair.
The first person I see as I step off the elevator is Beth Goldwater, a nurse in her late 50s. She was shuffling quickly out of a room. I watched Beth smooth down her fuchsia scrubs that were sprinkled with lilacs. Her salt and pepper curls were tucked into a low bun, but some had set themselves free and were caressing her neck. As she tucked the fugitives back in, she let out a soft sigh. A sigh that I could easily interpret as “bless your heart.” I choked back a laugh; I could even hear it in my head in Beth’s Georgia southern twain. “Lord have mercy, Liza.” Huffed and exhausted Beth.

My name is Elizabeth, but Liza is my nickname. The list of people who could call me Liza and get away with it was short; I only tolerated being called Liza by my mother and Beth. Beth’s like a matriarch figure holding my floor together, the glue. I respected her the minute we were introduced. I first met Beth while she was giving a doctor the business about a misdiagnosis. When she finished ripping the young doctor a new one, she composed herself and then greeted me. “Elizabeth, huh? I bet your momma calls you Liza like my little sister. Can I call you Liza?” questioned Beth. I smiled and nodded while saying, “Yes, ma’am.” I learned very quickly that everyone respected Beth and that very few questioned her.

“Is it a troublemaker?” I inquired. Last night I had a patient try and bite me multiple times, and I was NOT going to deal with that mess today. “N-no..”, Beth fiddled with her silver cross necklace that was usually tucked into her scrubs, “just a…talker…” Beth gave me a weary smile, she then filled me in on the patients I’d be taking over as she gathered a couple of belongings from the desk. I let out a yawn as I waved goodbye to Beth, who was getting on the elevator at the end of the hall.

When you first step off the elevator or climb the stairs, you’re greeted with a long stretch of a hallway with patient rooms on each side. The front desk for the floor and the nurses’ station were on the far end, where emergency exits were located. The patient room Beth had just left was first on my list to check. I was pretty curious about what kind of talkative patient could tire out Wonder Woman Nurse Goldwater.

As I stepped into the room, I immediately noticed how dim the lights were, which was weird. There were no dimmer switches in any of the rooms. I made a note on my miniature notepad that I carried in my scrubs pocket to have maintenance personnel change the bulbs. I stood in the doorway surveying the room. It was oddly still and quiet, considering all the machines plugged up. In front of me was a hospital bed with a young man slumped in it. He was slowly rubbing the IV in his right arm. On the other side of the bed were two gray armchairs and a white plastic coffee table. To my right was a whiteboard and a television mounted on the wall. It was on a static channel and muted.
I erased Beth’s name off the whiteboard and wrote my own. I then grabbed the patient’s chart, read it, and shuddered at its content. “Eric? Hi, I’m Elizabeth Waters. I’ll be taking over for Beth. How are we feeling? On a scale from 0 to 10, how would you rate your pain?” Eric lifted his head slowly as if the action pained him greatly. He had ear-length black hair that cultivated in front of his eyes. The back was artfully shaved down. I could tell there had once been a design there. Eric was covered in lesions and wheezed every other breath. In between the lesions peeked olive-toned skin. “My pain is at a 20. Liza, come sit down with me for a minute.” said a weak Eric. He let a wheeze escape after he made his request. “He must’ve heard Beth use my nickname. Talk about good hearing; Beth and I were across the hall when we talked…” I thought to myself. Generally curious to hear what he had to say, to listen to what frazzled Beth so much, I replied, “Let me check on everyone else, and then we’ll have a little chat. And Eric? Call me Nurse Waters or call me Elizabeth, but don’t call me Liza..” My stern look was replaced with a fake smile as I left the room.

When I returned, the man seemed to be wincing and wheezing in a great deal of pain. I adjusted his morphine drip, rechecked his vitals, and then sat down. Eric began to relax and lay back a little, still sitting up. He turned to face me but didn’t move the hair out of his face. I asked if he wanted me to clip it back, and he shook his head no. After a few coughs and wheezes, Eric began his dark tale:

‘Were you afraid of the monster under the bed, Liza? Sorry, I mean Elizabeth. No, Liza. It suits you better. Perhaps that’s why your mother liked it more. Well, did you? No? Well, I did. I had my father check under my bed faithfully every night. I had numerous night terrors about it. I occasionally had sleep paralysis, and it made the nightmares so much worse. My mom always knew when I had a sleep paralysis episode because my sheets would be soaked with sweat and piss the next day. Not able to afford anything better, my mother and father wrapped my twin mattress in plastic wrap, hoping to keep it dry.

I never said my prayers on my knees in front of my bed. It made me an easy target. I would say them with the covers pulled over my head. I hoped the Lord was still able to hear me. Like everyone else, I eventually grew out of it. It even became a desired hiding place for pirated DVDs of porn. I brought off a sketchy man at a gas station. The monster under the bed became a distant memory until I went off to college. Then… then it came back. College shrinks chalked it up to the anxiety of being away from home for the first time. But it was real. I know it was. Now I had a witness. Or at least I thought I did. I told them to ask my roommate, but before anyone could ask him, he moved out. One day I came back from class, and he was gone. I can’t blame him. It was probably hard to sleep or study with someone screaming in their sleep in the same room as you.

You see, it started off as nightmares and strange whispers, but then… when I was wide awake in bed…I started to feel it… It was soft and fuzzy. I’d thought maybe there was a tear in my old cheap comforter and that some of the fuzz was seeping out. I was too tired to care. I wrapped the comforter even tighter around me and tried to go back to sleep. The tickle was too intense. I sighed, sat up, and leaned down to remove the fuzz. It was… weird; long, slender, and cylindrical. It felt like a stubby fuzzy finger. When I squeezed it to pick it up, it felt… solid, like heavy. Before I could process anymore, the fuzz yanked free. Along with the first one, four more cylindrical fuzzies slowly wrapped around my hand and then moved down to my wrist. They tightened around my hand like someone was grabbing me, ready to pull me under. There was a low humming sound. Then right on top of the hum came loud heavy breathing. The breathing grew louder and louder. I recognized the hum.

It was the lullaby my mother had made up for me. The room became deathly still, and the air was now tense and palpable. The deepest voice I’ve ever heard crept out from under the darkness and whispered, “Hello Eric, long time no see,” it breathed heavily again, “I’ve missed you. Can we play again? I’m back forever.” Before my mouth could complete my brain’s request to scream, the grip on my wrist tightened until I felt warm blood trickle down my wrist and drip onto the bed. I was being pulled under… under the bed with it.

The following day I awoke in my bed wrapped in my blankets. There were a couple of lesions on my arms, and I was absolutely exhausted. It was as if I hadn’t slept at all. All I remembered was going to sleep, fuzz tickling my feet, and then waking up in the morning. You see, the thing made me forget our… playdates. Every morning was the same. I would wake up feeling exhausted, more lesions appeared in different spots, and I would remember nothing from the monster. This went on for about a month. The.. playdates- coughing and wheezing fit excuse me wheezes I’m so sorry. Now….where was I? Yes, what helped me catch on and allowed my memories to cascade down out of my subconscious like a disturbing jagged waterfall. The monster was clever, but it could not get rid of my memories; it could only push them back really far. All I needed was one thing, one clue to slingshot those misplaced memories to the forefront, and I had discovered it. It was the blood. Remember how it grabbed my wrist, drawing blood? On one occasion I had a guest in my room, and I cleaned up before she got there. I came across the blood at the foot end of my mattress—nothing registered at first glance. Later on, after we’d… um… wheeze got more acquainted with each other, I saw it again. I was leaning back, hoping this would absolve all my stress and whatever strange case of insomnia I had when my hand brushed past the crusty bloodstain, and I stared at it briefly. I was immediately punched in the face by repressed memories. A single tear rolled down my face. Looking up at me, Sadie smirked, “No way I’m that good.” She laughed. I begged her to get off the floor. Still on her knees in front of me, she scooted back a little.
Lust evacuating and concern filling Sadie’s face, she questioned me, “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Look, it’s okay to change your mind. W- we can just cuddle. Everything is going to be alright. We can take it slower.” I begged her again to get off the floor. She was too close… I realized I couldn’t tell her what was going on, so I changed it up and said, yeah, I’d like to just cuddle. Once she was safe on the bed with me, I would plan our next move. A warm and caring smile came across her face as she stood up to get on the bed with me. She took one step and halted. Her upper body began jerking forward like her feet were glued to the floor. Confusion washing over her like rushing rapids, she peered down and screamed, “WHAT THE FU-.” She was yanked down and snatched under the bed in a matter of seconds. There was a spray of blood that shot across my dorm room. “No…” I whimpered. The dark voice laughed. After the laughter faded, it whispered, “aht aht ahhh, her love would muddy up your flavor. You’re mine and mine alone.” A furry hand wrapped around my ankle, and I was pulled under again. This time I was no longer afforded the luxury of memory loss.
I’ve experienced darkness, but nothing like that. I don’t think I was under my bed. I think that was just a door. Ugh, it hurts to remember. It felt like furry sticky leeches slithered all around my body—their teeth sunk into me everywhere. I screamed until my throat gave out on me, and I blacked out. There was faint laughter echoing as I awoke in the middle of my floor. I was in a puddle of blood. I don’t think it was just mine. I ran down the hall screaming for help, leaving a trail of blood and flayed skin until I fell. Then I woke up here. It still visits me every day, leaving just enough of me so I won’t die. I thought the bed was the door, but it’s not. I am. You are now too. Anyone in contact with me becomes… a portal. Your nurse friend? She is gone, and so are you. I’m the only one it keeps alive.’

A furry pink hand came from under the bed with a whimsical laugh. “Don’t listen to the boy, dear girl. I will not harm you. Let’s play. Do you still like hopscotch? Shall we hop, hop, hop?” questioned a voice. “The bed!” Screamed Eric as he slid to one side. I hopped onto the bed with him, confused and afraid. “This cannot be happening!” I shouted. “Ohh, but it is girlie you’re just as damaged as my friend here,” there was a long, deep exhale from under the bed, “your trauma smells delicious. Like the first time, I met Eric. His father had given him a black eye and stopped at a yard sale and got little ol’ me. I was practically drooling when his father handed me to him.” It said with a long sigh afterward.

A flicker of remembrance came across Eric’s face. “One of my first memories is my dad buying me this creepy pink teddy bear with long fuzzy fingers like the Grinch. It snarled at me, so I threw it under my bed and never thought about it again. You were my teddy bear… what are you!” Eric shouted. I screamed as the bed rocked—a fuzzy pink hand wrapped around my wrist. “I’m sorry,” whimpered Eric through sobs. I stared at his wide eyes as I was pulled under the hospital bed. I was engulfed in complete darkness as I heard, “That’s a good boy Eric. You bring me more, and I give you rest.” Eric’s sobs echoed as my world filled with pain and then utter nothingness.