July 5th
I'm writing this because Mrs. O'Hara from school says it's good to keep a journal when your head feels messy. She calls it "organizing your thoughts." I don't know if it will help, but I'll try anything right now. It's hard to explain what's happening. My room doesn't feel safe anymore. And I can't tell anyone because they'll say I'm just a kid and making stuff up.
There's something under my bed.
I haven't seen it yet, but I hear it at night. It scratches sometimes, like claws on wood. Other times, it breathes—deep and slow, like it's waiting for something. It started last week after Daddy came home late. He was louder than usual, bumping into things and knocking over the chair in the kitchen. Mom got quiet, like she always does.
I asked her the next morning if she heard the noises under my bed, but she just smiled the way she always does when I ask questions she doesn't want to answer. I think she's scared of it, too.
July 7th
The scratching was louder last night.
It woke me up just after midnight, and I pulled the covers up over my head, real tight. I didn't want to move or breathe too loud, in case it heard me. I could feel it under the mattress, shifting. I swear it knows when I'm awake.
Daddy came home late again. I could hear him downstairs, talking to himself. He does that when he smells like that gross stuff in the bottles by his chair. He was mad again, but I don't know why. I heard something break. A glass, maybe? He and Mom were quiet after that. It's always quiet when he's like that.
The thing under my bed stayed with me the whole night. I didn't sleep.
July 9th
I think the monster is trying to get out.
I didn't hear it scratching last night, but I felt the mattress dip, like something heavy was underneath, pushing up. I stayed really still, staring at the ceiling. I thought if I didn't move, it would go away. But I could feel it breathing—hot and sticky through the blanket. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. My throat got stuck.
Mom's not talking much these days. She has those purple marks on her arms again, the ones she says come from bumping into things. She told me not to worry, that grown-ups just have bad days sometimes.
I don't think that's true. I think the monster gets her, too.
July 10th
I asked Daddy today if he believed in monsters. He laughed, but not in a nice way. He was sitting in his chair, the one near the TV where he always sits when he drinks his bottles. His eyes looked red and tired, and I could smell that sour stuff from across the room. He said monsters aren't real, and if I didn't stop talking about it, I'd get in trouble.
I think Daddy's wrong. The monster is very real, and it's getting stronger. I can feel it every night now, waiting for me to look under the bed. But I won't. I know better than to look.
I heard Mom crying after Daddy went to bed. I wanted to hug her, but I stayed in my room. The monster gets worse when it hears crying.
July 12th
There was yelling last night. It woke me up before the monster started moving. Daddy was really angry. I could hear him stomping around, and the floorboards creaked like they do when something heavy is walking across them. I tried to cover my ears, but the walls are thin. I could hear everything.
He was shouting at Mom about something, I don't know what. His voice was slurred and low, the way it gets when he's had too much of the stuff in the brown bottles. Mom was whispering, telling him to calm down, but that made him madder. I heard a loud smack, and then everything went quiet.
The monster under my bed didn't make any noise that night. I think it was listening, too.
July 15th
I don't like being home when Daddy is here.
It's worse when he's had a lot to drink. His eyes go dark, and his face looks different, like he's not really Daddy anymore. He stares at me sometimes like he's mad, but I didn't do anything wrong. Mom tells me to stay in my room when he's like that. I do, but the monster knows when I'm scared.
Last night, I thought I saw something move in the dark, near the edge of the bed. Just a shadow, but it wasn't the kind of shadow that comes from the moonlight. It was thick, like smoke, and it slithered across the floor, slow and careful. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still feel it.
It's getting bolder. I think it wants me to look.
July 18th
The monster grabbed me last night.
I was sleeping when I felt it—cold fingers wrapping around my ankle. I woke up and tried to pull away, but it was strong, stronger than I thought it would be. I couldn't see it, but I felt its grip, tight and cold. I kicked and scrambled, my heart pounding in my chest, and I managed to pull free, scrambling to the other side of the bed.
I didn't sleep after that. I kept the light on and stared at the door until morning.
Daddy didn't come home last night. Mom was sitting in the kitchen when I came down for breakfast, staring at nothing, her hands shaking a little. She said everything was fine, but I know it's not.
July 20th
The monster is changing.
I don't know how to explain it, but it feels different. It's not just something under my bed anymore—it's everywhere. It's in the walls, in the corners of the room, hiding in the shadows that creep along the ceiling. I see it when I close my eyes, and sometimes when I'm awake, I think I can hear it breathing.
Daddy was home all day today, but he didn't say much. He sat in his chair, drinking, staring at the TV, but not really watching it. I tried to stay out of his way. Mom stayed in her room most of the day. She said she wasn't feeling well, but I know she's hiding.
I think the monster is watching both of them, too. It's everywhere now. I'm scared it's going to come out of the shadows and take me away.
July 22nd
I had a dream last night.
I was in my room, but everything was darker, like the walls were closing in. The air was thick, and I could barely breathe. I tried to call for Mom, but no sound came out. The bed felt strange, like it was sinking into the floor, and when I looked down, I saw the monster's hand—huge and pale, with long, sharp fingers—reaching up from the darkness beneath me.
It grabbed my leg and pulled, and I fell into the blackness. It was cold and wet, and I could hear voices whispering all around me. They sounded like Daddy when he's drunk—angry and mean, full of hate.
I woke up before it could pull me all the way under, but I was covered in sweat. My room was dark, and the shadows seemed to move on their own. I couldn't tell if I was still dreaming or not.
July 23rd
Daddy hit Mom again tonight.
I was in my room, but I heard the yelling, and then the crash. Something broke—glass, maybe. I heard Mom cry out, and then it was quiet for a long time.
I wanted to run downstairs and stop it, but the monster was there, just under the bed, waiting. I could feel it, the cold fingers reaching for me. So I stayed still, curled up under the blankets, even though I knew it wouldn't protect me.
When Daddy finally left, I went downstairs to check on Mom. She was sitting on the floor, holding her arm. She didn't say anything when I came in. She just smiled, but it wasn't a real smile. Her eyes were red and tired, and she looked at me like she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out.
The monster was quiet for the rest of the night, but I think it's still waiting.
July 25th
I saw the monster's face last night.
It came out from under the bed, slow and careful, like it knew I couldn't move. Its skin was pale and stretched, and its eyes were black, just like the shadows in my room. It smiled at me, but it wasn't a nice smile. Its teeth were sharp, too long, too many, and its breath smelled like Daddy's bottles.
It told me not to scream. It told me it wasn't done yet.
I didn't scream.
July 26th
The monster isn't under my bed anymore.
It's in the house.
And I think it looks just like Daddy.