I was eleven years old when I first heard the voice beneath my bed.
It happened at exactly 3:17 AM.
I remember because my digital clock was the only light in the room.
3:17.
I woke up suddenly, staring at the ceiling.
For a few seconds, everything was silent.
Then I heard it.
A soft whisper.
“Don't look under the bed.”
I stopped breathing.
The voice sounded exactly like my mother.
I slowly turned toward my bedroom door.
It was closed.
“Mom?” I whispered.
No answer.
Then the voice came again.
This time, directly beneath me.
“Don't look under the bed.”
My entire body froze.
I wanted to scream, but something deep inside me told me that making a sound would be worse.
So I stayed still.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Slow.
Heavy.
Step.
Step.
Step.
They stopped outside my bedroom door.
I stared at the handle.
It slowly began to turn.
My mother entered the room.
At least... I thought it was my mother.
She stood in the doorway, wearing her white nightgown.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were wide with terror.
Then she looked at me and placed one finger over her lips.
“Shhh,” she whispered.
I nodded.
She slowly walked toward my bed.
And that's when the voice underneath me whispered again.
“Don't trust her.”
My mother stopped walking.
Her head slowly turned toward the bed.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then my mother smiled.
But my mother never smiled like that.
Her mouth stretched wider.
And wider.
Until the corners of her lips nearly touched her ears.
I screamed.
The thing wearing my mother's face jumped onto my bed.
I rolled off the other side and hit the floor.
And then...
I heard someone crying beneath the bed.
“Please,” my mother's voice whispered.
“Please don't leave me here with it.”
I stared at the darkness underneath the bed.
Two hands slowly reached out.
My mother's hands.
Her fingernails were broken.
Her fingers were covered in blood.
“Help me,” she sobbed.
Behind me, something breathed.
Warm air touched the back of my neck.
I turned around.
My mother was standing there.
Smiling.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked.
I looked back beneath the bed.
The hands were gone.
The crying had stopped.
Then my mother grabbed my shoulder.
“Come downstairs,” she said.
I didn't move.
Because my mother had just spoken.
But the thing behind me...
Hadn't opened its mouth.
---
That was fifteen years ago.
I live alone now.
In a different city.
A different house.
I don't sleep with my bed against the wall anymore.
I don't have anything underneath it.
I don't even allow darkness in my bedroom.
Every night, I leave the lights on.
But tonight...
At exactly 3:17 AM...
I woke up to a whisper.
From beneath my bed.
“Don't look under the bed.”
And this time...
It sounded exactly like me.