Horrid 26.Don’t Look at the Gap Between the Bed and the Wall

It’s only two inches wide. A dark, dusty sliver of nothingness where I occasionally drop a pen or a sock. But lately, when the lights go out, I hear a sound like someone leafing through a book made of wet parchment.

I made the mistake of looking down with a flashlight. There are no floorboards in the gap. There is only a vertical drop into a space that looks like a throat. And at the very edge, three small, white fingers—too long to be human—are hooked over the carpet, pulling something up. Every night, the bed moves an inch further from the wall, widening the gap. The thing in the dark is growing, and it’s using my lost items to build a face. I found my missing sock today. It was stuffed into a mouth that wasn't there yesterday. Tonight, the gap is wide enough for a head.