My bed owner has been very kind. For you see they leave their clothes everywhere!

I need what is on the floor for you see, this is a new bed. A new owner.

By the way, if you’re wondering at this point if I did the deed?

I did not. For I have plenty of souls to sate me. At least for the year.

Night comes, the creaking of someone entering the bed brought me to full attention.

The socks fall off?

And I wait. Wait for the…

Zzzzzzz

Perfect as I take them away and wait. Gleeful as a child.

Morning rises as I hide in the shadows. My bed owner notices something out of place. Maybe lost?

I laughed silently as I saw the concerned face but they thought they would find it eventually.

Months of this little game and my bed owner is scared to sleep. Her parents blame her for losing her socks when she knows that she put them in the same spot.

every night.

every time.

She drops another pair and waits to see for herself.

Should I show my hand? Or should I let her fear stew.

Her shallow breathing.

Holding the edge of her bed to the point of pain.

“Show yourself!” She screamed. And there it was. I did and I saw the blue light around her. It was radiant but I saw the youth on her face. How could I take another soul?

I wanted the light brighter anyways.

I reached my hand out and grabbed my prize. As she screamed and cried. I smiled.

A year later I felt the Hunger.

The blood moon has come.

Souls have left me like dearly departed friends. I watch them sail away, on the rivers of the afterlife.

I needed her being. Her fear. Her soul.

As night returned, the blood rays entered her window and I did what had to be done. Our time together was over.

On to the next one.

Have you ever wondered where socks go? How you can put two away and only find one a while later? I have this vague memory from my childhood of someone telling me of a monster. A monster that steals socks. I know there was more too it but I can’t remember now. I’m not even sure if the memory was real or just a childhood fantasy. Either way I don’t believe in monsters. At least not the ones described in stories to warn children not to wander too far from home, or to explain the unexplainable. Of course the real monsters that I know live inside of our minds. But those monsters twist words and latch onto the dark thoughts we have, they don’t steal socks. But I digress. The monster that has been lurking in my mind is this memory that I cannot remember. Something about socks, monster under beds, and souls? Was that it? I think so. I pull my shoes from under my bed and slip one on. My foot goes through. I don’t remember there being a hole in these. It clicks suddenly. The monsters under the bed steal socks, but sometimes steal soles. What a pointless monster. Who steals soles? I drop to my knees and peer under the bed. I blink. The darkness blinks back.

A messy room is the best place to hide. One where you can pick them up without them realizing it. One where you can stay a secret for a long while. Waiting for the moment. Waiting for the cue. As soon as thoses curious, wide-eyes lean over the bedframe is when you snap. When you pull. You refuel. It gives you something you can’t keep. So you do it again. And again. A mere legend, a fear that’s never given a name. The monster under the bed. Everyone fears it. But nobody knows why. Until it catches you.

Two glowing red eyes peered out from beneath the bed. They watched as two kids ran around the small bedroom, toys in hand, pretending they were airplane pilots. Narrowing, the red eyes glowered until a voice called for the kids from outside the room.

Dropping their toys, both children giggled and ran out of the room. They seemed blissfully unaware of the eyes watching their every move. The instant they left the room, the eyes focused on a lone sock on the ground by a messy laundry hamper with clothes spilling out the side.

In a flash, a dark shadow passed over the room and the sock disappeared. Meanwhile, under the bed, a deep voice cackled. Reatreating to the darkest corner under the bed, a small demon shivered and crawled into the sock. With a sigh of relief, the demon stopped shivering and closed his eyes.

Having drifted into a restful slumber, the demon snored softly. He didn’t even wake when the humans entered the room. They weren’t the usual humans that the demon had grown accustomed to, but two older men in white and black robes.

They walked around the room chanting and sprinkling water, which burned into the demons skin through the sock when it was splashed under the bed. Shuddering, the demon awoke with a hiss. The men gasped and began chanting while throwing more water at the demon.

Crying, the demon howled in pain. It convulsed as th words and water caused searing pain to shoot through its entire body. With a scream of agony, it rolled out of the sock and launched itself at the closest man.

With a scream, the man staggered backwards and stopped chanting, easing the pain of the demon, but that wasn’t enough. The demon’s eyes burned bright red as it leaned over the man and sucked is soul out of his body in an instant.

The other man screamed and threw a bucket of holy water at the demon, but the demon was able to roll out of the way. As the water splattered on the wall, some of it splashed the demon. With a screech the demon sprang forward and consumed the other man’s soul. Growing slightly larger, the demon stepped over the contorted faces of the two old men and retreated under the bed.

It tried to crawl back into the child’s sock, but it was still damp with holy water that burned the demon’s hand. Howling in frustration, the demon smacked the sock and began to shiver. Then, the normal humans entered the room.

The two grown humans screamed and fled, but the two kids stared at the demon shivering under their bed. Backing away slowly, they disappeared into the hall for a moment. They returned a minute later with a large sock from their dads bedroom.

Their eyes wide with wonder, the two small kids walked across their bedroom and placed the sock on the ground with trembling hands. Shivering, the demon’s head perked up as they approached. It hissed before realizing that they were already backing away from it, leaving the sock near the edge of the bed.

With tripidation, the demon slowly crawled towards the sock. Looking up at the children, it make a purring noise much like a cat; then, it snatched the sock and retreated back under the bed. Slipping into the sock, it stopped shivering and sighed.

Drifting back to sleep, the demon nuzzled into the sock. The two kids didn’t return that night, or any other night, but the demon found a large black sock waiting for it at the edge of the bed each morning. Grateful, it spent its days slumbering in peace in a cozy sock.

In the quiet town of Windhollow, children whispered about the Bedfolk, the monsters who lived beneath their beds. No adult ever believed them, of course, but every child in town knew that once the lights went out, the Bedfolk stirred, shifting shadows beneath creaking springs and dark bedskirts.

The Bedfolk were clever in their mischief. Some nights, they would pluck single socks from pairs, leaving drawers scattered with mismatches and children baffled at their vanishing. “Just the laundry machine,” their parents would say with a laugh. But the children knew better; the Bedfolk were always hungry for something small—something that wouldn’t be missed at first.

But every so often, when the moon hung dark and clouds smothered the stars, the Bedfolk craved more than socks. On those nights, they whispered secrets in voices as soft as silk. Secrets about lost wishes, forgotten friends, or the fear of the dark. These secrets drifted into the dreams of the child sleeping above them, causing restless tossing and turning, until the Bedfolk could reach up, just for a moment, to touch the child’s hand, just long enough to steal a bit of their spirit—a glimmer of what made them brave, or kind, or curious.

Most children who lost these pieces never noticed. They only knew they’d grown a little more afraid of the dark, or a little less brave in the face of storms. But some felt it, like a chill that seeped into their bones, leaving them just a little less whole. They could feel that something precious had slipped away in the night, into the waiting hands of the Bedfolk.

As the children grew older, they remembered less and less about the Bedfolk. But the whispers still passed from little brother to sister, cousin to cousin. “Keep your socks close and a flashlight nearby,” they’d say, “or one day, you’ll lose something you can never get back.”

And deep below the beds, the Bedfolk waited, patient and hungry, hidden in shadows only children knew how to see.

Stories tale of a beast with a thousand mouths. Each greedier and hungrier than the next. At least that's how the tale's used to go. Nowadays, they're called the under-folk. In the early 90's scientists discovered that under the right conditions a wormhole would temporarily breach the surface of reality under children's beds. The exact conditions are still under investigation, but generally, they were consisted of low-light environments, concrete housing foundations, and the most important ingredient of all fear of young children. The wormhole would last no longer than 5 minutes, typically about three-and-a-quarter minutes, but in that time the under-folk would cause mischief such as stealing laundry, causing bumps in the night, and generally terrifying children to extract the terror from the youths' hearts. Generally, the scientists studying this phenomenon thought the process was never harmful to the children, hence the dozens and dozens of test subjects that had involuntarily been the subject of a dozen government-funded research programs. Unfortunately, that all changed with the 13th experiment.

Experiment 13 consisted of a standard observing period in a small commuter town outside of Boston. The child in question was 8 years old, and had a tendency to sneaking into the family living room after his parents had gone to sleep to watch scary movies on Netflix. The subjects were typically randomly selected, based on a geographical region, in this case a 50-mile radius around Boston, MA was selected. This was to prevent bias in the experimental data. The experiment started off normally, the setting up of monitoring equipment during a routine house inspection, the monitoring of the feeds outside in an unmarked van. What they didn't expect was the scream at 2:12am -- a scream that shattered windows, the current scientific understanding of the under-things, and their grant funding...

I curl up in that little space, trying to keep my breathing quiet. My heart is going so fast I shake with it. Surely everyone can hear it? I watch the feet shuffling around my room. She walks away.

There is a monster under my bed, I think. One that makes me invisible even in the brightest colours and silent even if I scream my loudest.

It muffles the outside world to me and blinds it too. I think it’s a nice monster, but sometimes I don’t want to be hidden, I have to run from it as fast as I can. Doing everything against its wishes until that silent part of me is gone. Replaced. I fight with fists and shouts till that timid bit of me is too scared to exist. But then I go home. And bold, angry me is the one too scared to exist. The monster comes back. It silences me.

Doesn’t make much sense, but hey ho

Don’t check under the bed It’s there. It’s there. It’s watching you sleep Don’t dare. Don’t dare.

Then morning comes It’s fine. It’s fine Just missing laundry It dines. It dines.

Just thread remains How sad. How sad. I loved those socks Made mad. Made mad.

So today I vowed It’ll pay. It’ll pay. Tonight’s the night Post-day. Post-day.

The clock struck twelve I’ll check. I’ll check. With flashlight, I peered A wreck. A wreck.

The monsters not tidy A mess. A mess. Some stocking remnants Obsess. Obsess.

But also piles of heads No more. No more. It reached up to me Oh gore. Oh gore.

It grasped my skull Beg stop. Beg stop. I couldn’t escape A chop. A chop.

My head was detached Almost. Almost. I was a goner now A ghost. A ghost.

The head it didn’t want Not goal. Not goal. What it truly coveted My soul. My soul.

Roman Valois’ mother would often tell him stories of these “monsters.” Though, she much preferred to call them The Hungry.

The Hungry liked to feast on souls. Their favorites were young, fresh, and fit.

They form from strong emotions. Hatred, envy, fear, depression, etc. If the emotion grew strong enough The Hungry would be born.

They seep through the cracks of your wooden floorboards until they reach the surface world. They find the nearest host then slowly eat away at their soul until they’ve taken control of the organism.

Their bodies still wander the earth, still run their daily errands.

They still look the same. There’s no change in their physical appearance.

The dark definite mole just below his thin, pink, lips is still there. His soft brown curls still bounce around his jaw. The gleam in his lush green eyes is fading, flickering, but nonetheless still there.

Physically Jude Hawke is still Jude Hawke.

Physically he’s the same tall, brawny, boy Roman had always known.

But, his soul has been sneakily swiped and stashed away.

His physique is still present, but his love for music and composing has been lost. His love for the piano, his beloved, prized possession, grand piano had been shattered.

No one but Roman seems to notice this. But it’s also noteworthy to mention, no one but Roman had a “crazy” psychic mother so that could possibly have something to do with it.

He suspects it all began Friday evening.

The two boys, glued to each other since elementary days decided to sneak into an old abandoned home and fear got the best of them.

The next day Jude had strictly informed Roman he was not to see him again and Roman had obeyed that unfortunate day.

That was then though.

Now, Roman Valois’ red coverse seem to sink into the dirt below him. His heart falls to the pit of his stomach as he pushes down on the doorbell and hears the all too familiar chimes and the screams of his father to “Get the damn door, Jude!”

He can hear the sound of feet scurrying down the door and Jude yelling back an emotionless. “Yes, sir!”

The lock clicks and the silver knob twists as Jude opens the door. “Roman, I thought I told you not to come.”

There’s no gleam.

His eyes are a dull, lifeless, swampy green.

“I-I know but, I…I just…” He’s lost in his eyes, lost in the mystery that hides behind them. They’ve got this eerie shadow to them. A chilling fog wavers over them. “See I-“ He’s beginning to babble like a toddler. His tongue begins dancing around the words. Jude would usually say something smart like ‘What, cat got your tongue?’ But, this Jude doesn’t. “I-I wanted to play piano with you!” He blurts out.

Why did he just say that? He wasn’t supposed to say that?

His legs quiver and his teeth rattle like a bingo cage on Friday night at the local nursery home.

Jude’s eyes are cold. “What?” He leans in, confused as if he would be able to understand Roman better if he did this. “You know my father hates our music.” He sneaks a hand around Roman’s waist, instantly sending a chill up his spine. “He does, doesn’t he?” He asks. This isn’t rhetorical. Jude seems genuinely confused as if he doesn’t know his own father.

Roman stays silent.

“Guess the old man’ll have to put up with it today.” He chuckles, pulling the door farther open. “Come in. Let us play for your pleasure my Roman.” As his chuckles are grow louder so does Roman’s anxiety.

Jude had always been a playful boy, but not im this way. The more he speaks to his friend the stranger he becomes.

Yet, he’s still far too enticed to reject Jude’s welcoming. Together, they climb the spiral staircase and sneak into Jude’s room and there lies the grand piano.

Jude grips Romans waist, quickly shoving him down on the black, wooden, velvet cushioned, stool before rushing over to sit him in front of the piano as well.

The silence is quickly filled as both sets of fingers dance around the keys, waltz over the notes, and create the uttermost sensational melodys.

Their music and passion drowns out every decibel of Jude’s father’s yelling.

Soon, Roman too sees the black fog. As he dances away with the rhythm he allows the haze to take them. There’s no reason to fight it because the feeling is serene when you see allow your soul to be snatched away.

Monsters hide under beds, Monsters hide behind closets, Monsters hide behind shadows, And even behind windows.

They hide to steal, Socks or pants, Waiting for the chance Where you can’t even outran.

They are hungry, For innocent dreams and souls. And they’ll never stop, Till they achieve their goal.