The Thing Under The Bed
My wife made me feel like a kid, but not in a good way. I should have bought that bat.
“Gage. Gage! There’s someone under our bed,” she whispered.
Her words touched a cold can of soda to my neck. I remembered all those other times in my childhood bed, waking up in the middle of the night, realizing that I had kicked off my armor, the bed sheet and comforter that had been my only protection from whatever is was that had waked me.
I remembered my wife and daughter and my memories of childhood were overcome by manliness.
“Hello?”
No reply.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
What would I do? I would have gladly used a weapon. I didn’t have any weapons. I should have bought that bat. The best thing I figured I had in this particular situation was the heel of my foot. When whoever it is comes out I’ll bring my heel down hard on his back, right between his shoulders.
Gotta flush him out.
“I’m getting my gun!” I yelled, maybe a little too excited. I moved toward the side of the bed closest to the door. He was sure to crawl out that way.
I waited for something black to creep out. I imagined this guy wearing a trench coat, maybe nothing else underneath.
The room fell silent. I held still, kneeling on the corner of the bed with my right foot ready to move fast and push hard into a spine.
I heard movement, rustling. It came from beside me.
My wife was sitting up. She put her hand on my back.
“Gage. I was joking.”
