You lay there wide awake. Thoughts are coursing through your head. You hear every little creak, every little sound that occurs in your house. The floor boards creak and you know he is watching, the monster that lives under your bed. Waiting for you to get up in the middle of the night to snatch you up and take you to his hell. You pull the covers over your head in hope that his gaze will subside. The warmer it got under the blanket the more worried you become, because you know you will have to look at him. He whispers, “I know you’re under there. Why don’t you come play?” I roll over, ignoring the monster. Monsters don’t live under your bed; they live in your head. You doze off and wake at the sound of someone cooking breakfast. As you place your feet on the floor you notice the scratches covering your legs and feet. Monsters only living in your head? That’s bullshit; I've got one under my bed. He comes to see me every night in hopes I go to play with him. Truth is he just wants my soul.