Two weeks. I have been having trouble sleeping for two weeks. Now, I'll have you know that my sleeping schedule is top tier. I go to bed at 10 p.m. sharp, and wake up at 6 to head to the gym. No, I haven't had any heartbreaks, or any exam dates keeping me up. Quite frankly, there was something under my bed that had been troubling me, just a bit. You know that sense of slow anxiety that starts to build up in your stomach when something feels... Wrong? The feeling of cold terror that starts to crawl up your spine, reaching your throat and latching on to it to prevent any sound from escaping? That's the one. My guess is that it followed me home after I left a party by the old mines. Motherfucker. Two weeks ago, I had woken up to the feeling that I was not alone. The silence hung heavily in the air, and I prayed on the back of my mind that I would go back to sleep. But then it wasn't so silent anymore. At first it was the scuffling, the sound of ragged, sharp nails scraping slowly against the hardwood floors and awkward limbs bumping around. Then it was the slow, obnoxious wheezing, as if someone with a terrible cold and stuffed sinuses had resorted to mouth-breathing for air. Dumb prick, I thought to myself, snatching one of my pillows over to smother my face and dull out the noise. The selfish little shit didn't even need to breathe anymore. About three nights ago, I finally gave in and peeked underneath the bed to stare into the eyes of my unwanted visitor. That was the plan, except there were no eyes for me to lovingly gaze into. Just two bleeding, gaping holes looking back at me, while an unnaturally wide mouth gasped for air like a fish out of water. Long pale limbs were bent at disgusting angles, while the chipped, purple fingernails appeared to be half rotted off as it reached for me. Yeah, I decided that was enough investigating for the night. Even after years of being desensitized to these things, every now and then I'd still get a spine-tingling chill at the sight of the more daunting ones. I figured I'd just let it stay there for now. As long as it didn't come crawling out, it could stay there. A new roommate. Maybe when I feel more comfortable with its presence, I'll even start telling it how my day went. Or at least give it a nasal spray. There was just no way in hell I was going to move that thing myself. Fuck my life.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.