Chapter 6: Under the Bed

I trudged home, feeling hollowed out.

My sneakers scuffed the cracked driveway as I shuffled up to the porch, the windows glowing yellow behind torn curtains. The porch swing creaked in the warm breeze, and every step felt heavier than the last.

As I reached the door, Mom met me, her face pinched with worry. "Did that old man say anything to you, or give you anything?"

She peered at me, lips tight, eyes darting from my face to my hands. The porch light flickered, throwing jumpy shadows across her face.

I pressed my hand to the cross in my pocket and forced a smile. "No, Mom. He just told me to get some sleep."

She studied me for a long second, suspicion flickering in her eyes. But I kept my voice even and casual, even as my heart thundered. After another beat, she let out a shaky sigh and stepped aside. "Go wash up, Aubrey. There’s food on the table."

The kitchen light glimmered, catching on old family photos taped to the fridge. I slipped inside, the cross a secret weight in my palm.

That night, I wanted to keep vigil for my sister-in-law, but Mom blocked the hallway, arms folded, voice gentle but firm. "You need your rest, honey. We’ll take turns."

"You’ve had a long day. Go get some rest. The vigil lasts three days; you can keep watch tomorrow."

Her words were soft, but I saw the exhaustion in her face. I nodded, too tired to argue, and headed for my room, barely noticing the comfort of my old posters or the familiar quilt.

As soon as I hit the mattress, cross still clenched in my hand, sleep dragged me under.

Late that night, as I drifted half-asleep, the cross in my pocket grew hot. Pastor Ray’s warning jolted me awake. I rolled off the bed and crawled underneath.

The dust smelled like old pennies and forgotten secrets. My heart hammered so loud I was sure she could hear it. The bedframe creaked as I squeezed under, knees pulled to my chest, the wooden slats inches from my face.

I’d barely settled in when, two minutes later, the door creaked open. A blast of icy air swept into the room—August, but suddenly as cold as January. The window rattled in its frame, and outside, a dog barked once, then fell silent.

Holding my breath, I peeked out. In the moonlight, I saw a pair of blood-red shoes—shoes I recognized. My sister-in-law’s favorites, the ones she used to leave by the back door, side by side with my brother’s muddy boots. Seeing them now, glowing in the moonlight, made my blood run cold.

I bit my wrist to keep from making a sound, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as I prayed the cross would keep me hidden.

She stood at the bedside, motionless. I could only see her crimson shoes, but I felt her eyes searching for me. The air grew heavier, each second stretching into forever. My body shook so hard I thought I’d rattle the bed. I didn’t know how long she stood there, but when the sky finally paled, she turned toward the door.

Just as she reached it, her voice sliced through the hush: "Aubrey, you have to run. Before it finds you too."

Her words hung in the air, sharp and cold as broken glass. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Even after the room warmed, I kept shaking, clutching the cross as if it was the only thing holding me together.

She’d known I was under the bed.

I lay there, paralyzed, her warning ringing in my ears. Outside, the sky turned pink, and the sound of a lawnmower and the smell of cut grass drifted in, but all I could feel was the chill she left behind.