The only sound he could make out outside of his blanket was a slight rustling sound that one could have mistaken for the wind if they weren’t as privy to the world as he was. It was in the middle of a normal and hot Sunday night when all of a sudden he was torn from his slumber. He was not entirely sure of what had woken him up but he sure as hell knew it couldn’t be anything good. So doing the only reasonable thing, he buried his body under his light summer blanket, while praying that not even the tiniest part of him was sticking out. Everybody knew that a blanket was the most effective way of defending against the creatures of the night but of course only when used correctly.
After a short, while he realized that it was a treacherous situation he found himself in as his body heat was doing a fantastic job of turning his bunker into a sauna. Sweat ran into every crack and fold on his body, making him want nothing more than to feel fresh air brush over his skin after diving back out into the normal world.
No! Don’t even think that! That is what they want. That I make a mistake, that I open myself up for an attack. They got the wrong guy. I can make it till sunrise if I have to and everybody knows that a monster can’t live past the first rays of the morning sun.
A sudden creak of the floorboards made him jump into his little hideout. Panicking he readjusted the blanket, trying his very best not to make a sound. There it was again, the creak, unmistakably the sound of the floorboards in the hallway between his and his family’s rooms. How many times had he heard it in his life, when his parents made their way toward his room but on this terrible night the sound of those footsteps was all wrong? Their rhythm fit neither his father nor his mother. Light and close together but hasty at the same time, as if someone was making an effort not to wake him up while unable to contain their sinister excitement for what they were about to do. At this point, the sweat had formed a patch underneath him, its stench clogging his nose. Was it just sweat at this point? Or had he lost control over his bladder? It was no use. All his focus was bent on following those wretched sounds. With the deep grumbling of the loose old plank right in front of his room they found their end.
He had locked his door, right? He must have. There was no other way. He always locked his door. Should he go and check? If he dashed it, he should be able to beat whatever was on the other side to open it. YES! Yes, he would do exactly that and be safe right after.
He readied himself and just as he was about to leave his bed all the hope that had just built up in his chest and made his heart beat fast in triumph vanished alongside these thoughts. A simple and faint but also familiar squeaking sound broke the newly found silence. Tears started streaming down his cheeks, feeling icy cold on his feverishly hot skin. It was the sound of his old, warped door being pushed open. Not only wasn’t it locked but the thing knew how to open it.
Never had he cursed his carpet floor as much as now, as it was masking the intruder’s steps. A crooked laugh here and a scratch on the wall there were his only ways at an attempt to locate his foe. He had to stay strong. Out of nowhere, something heavy fell on his legs and with that, he heard giggling and hastied footsteps leaving his room and eventually his house. Wetness seeped through his blanket, where the two almost round objects were dropped but he did not dare to look at them.