Under The Bed

She kept telling me there was something under the bed, a monster or something; but the feet to the base of the bed had long been lost to the shadows and now the base rested directly on the floor; it was quite simple: no monster could fit there. So her pleas were discarded, like the feet to the bed I guess, until the time came to clean under it. She wasn’t wrong. There was something under there all along; it was far worse than a monster. It was handwritten on dry skin; a warning. To read this is to die.