Who’s under the bed?

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When I was younger there was a demon under my bed.

His voice was deep and ominous, I was four years old when I first heard it. Dad said goodnight and turned off the light. My room was pitch black and a storm raged outside. That was when I heard it.

“Hello, my name is Stewart.”
I pulled the sheet over my head as a pool of urine chilled my rear-end, but there was no-way I was moving off the bed to clean it up.
The voice spoke again, a bit softer this time, “What’s your name?”
Silence was everywhere but my head, inside thoughts shot from one side to the other. Nothing made sense, my room was empty, yet a voice spoke from under the bed.
But in the silence the voice spoke again, “Don’t be afraid, I only want to be friends.”
The voice was calm. And for some reaoson I felt I could trust it, “My name is Kevin.”
“Hello Kevin, do you like toys? I saw a car on the floor.”
The sheet came down and I took a breath. “Yes I do. I have lots of toy cars, and a race-track.”
“That’s so cool. I like red cars. They’re the best.”
“I know. My dad says that he’s gonna buy me a red car when I’m old enough, a real one. At the moment we have a white one.”
“Wow, you’re so cool! My dad doesn’t need a car.”
“Why not? My mum and dad use the car all the time.”
“What’s a mum? I only have a dad.”
“That sucks. Mums are so cool. They make food and fix things all the time. And they’re good at giving hugs.” The voice didn’t speak for a bit after that, but I liked talking to him. “Hey, what’s your name? I forgot.”
“Stewart.”
“Hello Stewart, my name is Kevin. Do want to be my friend?”

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