My favourite toy whispered a warning, and the thing under my bed moved.
It was meant to be an ordinary evening. I put on my pyjamas, brushed my teeth, and slid under the blanket with a yawn.
Brutus the bear was already waiting on my pillow. He was a little saggy now, with one paw stitched twice and a tiny hole near his ear, but he was still my favourite thing in the world.
I reached for him.
Then a voice said, "Finally. We can talk."
I went perfectly still.
The bear blinked at me with his button eyes. Then he spoke again, as if talking was the most normal thing in the world.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."
I flung him across the room.
"Ow!" he snapped, landing in a heap beside my desk. "That was rude."
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Brutus climbed back onto his paws and dusted himself off with one bent arm. "We don't have much time," he said, lowering his voice. "Listen carefully. You're in danger."
I stared at him. "From what?"
He looked past me, toward the bed, and his stitched mouth tightened.
"From what's underneath it."
A soft scraping sound answered from the floorboards, slow and deliberate, as something moved in the dark beneath my bed.