I was seven years old when it first appeared. Well, it might've just been the first time I noticed it. I had gone to bed late after watching a scary movie with my older brother, and sleep did not come easily. I tossed and turned for hours before finally expelling the horrors from my mind enough to relax. Sometime around 1 A.M. I drifted off into slumber, my hand falling limply over the edge of the bed.
A gentle, warm breath tickled my palm and jolted me back into alertness. Deep, primal fear gripped my body and froze me in place as I awaited some kind of attack or movement. Goosebumps shot up my spine and propelled me out of the room in a clumsy scramble, after which I rushed to my parent's bedroom and harassed my father awake. I breathlessly explained to him what happened, my heart beating to the extent that I could hear my blood pumping in my ear canals. My father laughed at my account of the imminent danger, and my young, underdeveloped baby brain couldn't understand his carelessness, but I didn't mind as long as he still addressed the problem.
Thankfully, he followed me back to my room and inspected the dark area beneath my bed, reaching in and rifling between and behind the totes and boxes stuffed into the space. He picked me up by my armpits and placed me back into my bed, patting me on the head and lifting the quilt over my shoulders. "No monster under there, little man. Even if there was, I'd just beat it up! No need to worry about something like that. Besides, there's too much crap under there for some scary monster to squeeze in. Go to sleep." I was happy for my father's calm assurance, and fell quickly to sleep after my heart rate equalized.
The next morning, I awoke marooned on my bed by a wall of stuff. Everything under my bed had been cleared out and piled in a semicircle next to my bed. My dad made me put it all back, but the next morning I awoke to the exact same scenario. Dad moved everything to the attic, leaving the space beneath my bed completely empty.
Months later, scratches began to appear on my hands and forearms overnight. They were always small and passable for random inexplicable damages accrued from everyday life as a family with cats. Eventually, the scratches stopped appearing, and I completely forgot about my experience with the paranormal.
>>>
I'm no longer a kid, and daily life never hesitates to remind me. My job is life-sucking, my family relationships are all strained, and I'm moving into a house in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, surrounded by nothing but corn fields and cow farms for miles in all directions. I've finally moved out of my parent's house at the ripe young age of 22, and my hope is that the change will allow me to enter a better headspace as soon as possible. Surely the freedom and silence alone will contribute greatly to my anticipated upcoming mental rebound.
I sink into the sofa with a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction as I take in the sight of my newly assembled living room. Much of the furniture is second hand from dead or old family members, begrudgingly handed off with the singular goal of getting rid of old furniture in favor of new pieces. Although most of the furniture is new, I've also been able to acquire some new pieces myself (such as the sofa upon which I currently sit) which is going a long way toward contributing to the me-ness and the coziness of the space.
All the furniture is in its place, the appliances have been hooked up and activated, the decorations have been tastefully applied throughout, and my brain can no longer identify anything else needing to be done. A bead of sweat rolls down my face, and lifting an arm to wipe it on my sleeve reveals that my armpits currently smell like rotting bananas.
Padding through the house to the bathroom, I start the water running before rushing into my new bedroom to track down the personal hygiene items that I know for certain I packed into a blue tote with some of my clothes. I pop open the tote next to my bed and produce the shampoo and bar soap before returning to the bathroom. I yearn to scrub the grime and sweat from my body, knowing that once I'm clean, I will be able to properly relax and chill for the rest of the night. I toss my laundry into the hamper and step under the hot water, sighing happily as the tension and stress is pelted out of my muscles by the thick droplets. Upon exiting the shower and drying myself thoroughly, my remaining energy proves just enough to throw on some boxers and propel my rubbery body into my bed, after which I promptly zonk out and begin snoring profusely.
An uncertain amount of time later, I am awoken by the sound of something falling. I sit up in my bed and cast my eyes around the room groggily. I can't see anything moving, but I'm sure that I had heard something fall. I can't recall leaving anything leaning precariously against the wall, but perhaps I had and simply forgotten about it? How long have I been asleep anyway? It's so dark! I grope for my phone in a desperate attempt to acquire a form of illumination.
The floor creaks discernibly to my right, in the direction of the hallway. I freeze, kneeling on my bed, my squinted eyes peering desperately into the darkness, hoping to identify the source of the disturbances. My instincts tell me that in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, fight beats flight, so I leap off the bed in the direction of the noise, careening headlong into what can only be an intruder of humanoid nature. I swing my arms wildly, hoping to land a couple blows before the intruder has a chance to react. My hand connects with something, but the sharp pain in my thumb and the dull thud tells me that it was only the wall.
Where'd the intruder go? I feel around in the darkness in an attempt to locate the person, to no avail. They managed to escape the room already? How? It's so dark! Something hits me in the side, propelling me into a pile of boxes on the floor in which I quickly become entangled. The intruder flees into the living room, a tactic clearly announced by the sound of their receding footsteps, and I quickly extricate myself from the boxes in an attempt to give chase.
Now in the living room, I scour the wall for the light switch and flick it on without hesitation. Illumination floods the room, blinding my eyes which had probably just finished acclimating to the dim environment. Squinting deeply and looking down, I spot my aluminum baseball bat lying willy-nilly in an open box next to my old high school baseball trophies, which I immediately stoop to retrieve. I settle into what I can only describe as my "attack mode," scouring the room for something to lay into with lethal intent.
I spot the intruder in the corner of the room, kneeling and curled into a ball behind my new couch, and rush to attack it. Just as I'm raising the bat to deliver a definitive overhead strike, further inspection of the intruder stops me in my tracks. Confusion warps my expression as my still-fuzzy head attempts to identify the creature presented to it.
Despite a somewhat humanoid shape, the creature is covered in thick black fur that's heavily matted and quite dirty. Large ivory horns adorn the creature's head, curling over its skull and behind its ears before terminating in a sharp point. It appears to be embracing itself tightly, and the sharp black talons on the end of its slender fingers remind me quite abruptly of the mysterious scratches acquired overnight all those years ago in my youth.
I grip the bat and address the creature with an air of stern command, "Stand up." I step closer, with caution being the paramount concern in my mind. The creature flinches at the sound of my voice but remains curled into a ball. "Stand up right now." I reiterate my demand with increased hostility, winding up the bat for a home run.
The creature unfolds itself slowly and acquiesces to my petition, raising itself to its full height, yet remaining definitively non-aggressive. I lower the bat, astonishment washing away all my other emotions as I take in the sight laid out before me. The creature flinches as the tip of the bat hits the wood floor, but remains in its place, silently awaiting my next command.
The thick, matted fur hides the shape of the creature in part; however, upon examining the whole of the creature's body under sufficient illumination, any person with a working pair of eyes can identify that the intruder is undoubtedly female. She's shorter than me, though not by much, and significantly more muscular, with deep definition on her arms, legs, and stomach easily apparent despite the obscuring nature of her coat, which is black on every part of her body except her face and stomach, both of which feature a much shorter, off-white fur. I can make out a small nose and plentiful lips, bookended by long white fangs, but her eyes are fully obscured by the long top-coat fur hanging down from her head. Casting my eyes over her body, I can see without question that her form is generously curvaceous in all the right areas, as well as being muscle-bound in a way that indicates a lifetime of obligatory primal athleticism. Two well proportioned, soft mounds hang from her chest precisely where human breasts would be located, and I find that the more I inspect them, the harder it becomes to look away. Even lower, her stomach is flat and unreasonably chiseled, with a nicely shaped waist, round hips, powerful thighs, long legs, and a strong pair of feet. Her mound is completely hidden beneath her fur, but if I had to guess based on the rest of her body, I would assume that it's of the highest quality attainable by mortal form.
Despite a nagging voice of common sense telling me not to let my guard down, I cross the room and recline on the sofa. Her body appears to be quite powerful; however, her demeanor communicates naught but unadulterated submission. She's clearly out of her element and unable to assert herself physically. I set the bat on the floor and nudge it to the side as a sign of good faith, wanting to tell her to sit somewhere but unable to articulate English words in my overwhelmed state of mind.
The intruder relaxes visibly, her shoulders lowering and her breathing becoming much more noticeable. She exits the corner but remains on the far side of the room from me as she sits down on the floor and crosses her legs. She raises a hand to her face and covers her eyes, bringing one knee up to prop her elbow against while she waits for me to say something.
"Is the light too bright?" I ask her quietly, and after a short pause, she confirms my suspicion with a gentle nod. After turning my phone's brightness to maximum, I cross to the light switch and flick it off before returning to the couch. Using the light from the screen, I continue to study and keep an eye on her. "Did I scare you in the bedroom? I'm really sorry if I did." I whisper, and she raises her head slightly in order to respond.
"I think we scared each other pretty bad." She responds, her voice smooth as silk and soft as cotton. I raise my eyebrows with incredulity at the realization that she can speak English.
"How do you know my language?"
"Heard only human words all my life. Couldn't learn anything else." She leans her back against the recliner and sighs as the last of the tension leaves the room.
"Have you been living under my fucking bed this whole time? Ever since I was seven?" The possibility seems incredible, but I have no other explanation.
"I sleep during the day and awake during the night. Under the bed is a good protection from the light."
"Light hurts you?"
"Not really, just too strong. Too much bright. Too much hot. Cool and dark much more comfy. Like home."
"Where's home?"
"Not sure. Somewhere far away." She reaches out and pulls one of my shirts from a nearby box, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling it tight as she scans the room slowly.
"What do you eat?" I watch her cuddle up in my shirt and a hint of protective instinct creeps into my head.
