Last night, however, something happened that made me question my skepticism. I had just turned off the lights and tucked myself into bed when I heard a faint rustling noise. It sounded like the gentle shuffle of fabric or a soft whisper. Instinctively, I froze, straining my ears to catch any hint of movement. The sound came again, more pronounced this time, as if whatever was beneath my bed was trying to make its presence known.

My heart raced as I contemplated what to do next. Part of me wanted to leap out of bed, flip on the lights, and confront whatever was hiding in the shadows. But another part of me, the part that still believed in the monsters of my childhood, urged caution. What if it wasn’t just my imagination? What if there really was someone, or something, under my bed?