Under the Bed
I held my breath when I heard slow breathing beneath the bed.
The breathing stopped too.
Childhood fear of something hidden just outside sight.
I held my breath when I heard slow breathing beneath the bed.
The breathing stopped too.
I found a photograph of myself asleep in my bedroom with tomorrow’s date written on the back.
In the corner, someone had circled the space beneath my bed.
Every night since my husband disappeared, the dog has sat outside our bedroom staring at his empty side of the mattress.
Tonight she finally looked underneath it.
I deleted the nursery camera after months of watching an empty crib.
That night the app sent one last motion alert from a camera labeled UNDER YOUR BED.
My son drew our family standing beside a tall black shape and labeled everyone except it.
When I asked who it was, he said it had not told him my name yet.
My children built a blanket fort and said I was not allowed inside because their new friend was shy.
After bedtime I found the fort empty, but something underneath it was still breathing.
The front desk gave me the wake-up call I requested at seven.
A second phone under the bed rang at the same time and a child answered.
My suitcase kept sliding off the luggage rack while I tried to sleep.
On the third fall, a hand pushed it back up from underneath.
The exterminator found a clown shoe in the crawlspace beneath our house.
My daughter asked whether he had found the other one beside her bed.