What Lies Beneath the Bed?

Looking back, I understand my childhood fear regarding something lurking beneath my bed was unfounded, born of a hyperactive thought process fueled by watching old Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Lon Chaney movies. I now know there was never any inherent danger. My bedroom was a safe sanctuary, not a horror hostel. At the time though, I was certain these fears were grounded in reality compounded by bad luck.

Why did I had the misfortune of a monster seeking shelter under my bed? Did it come with the home? If so, was that highlighted in the disclosure documents available from the listing agent? And wouldn’t this qualify as a deal-breaker for my parents when they heard about it while attending the open house?

Or is this punishment for some transgression I may allegedly have had? Thousands of kids in the world misbehaved more than I ever did, four of which were close acquaintances, yet I’m the one who has to fend off being mauled on a regular basis by a demon bidding its time among the accumulating dust bunnies? My displeasure with Brussel sprouts was well documented. But just because I got caught wrapping them in my napkin to covertly toss them in the trash so as not to have to eat them for dinner last year doesn’t mean I deserve being thrown to the proverbial werewolves now.

Granted, my folks comply with every bedtime plea to check below my boxspring, ensuring it is vacant. But the standard parental response of “There’s nothing there. It’s only your imagination running wild,” is not factual reassurance. I wouldn’t ask you to look if I hadn’t heard something nefarious giggling from beneath where I slumber. At best their findings were on par with “Because I said so” as a way to end a discussion without presenting any irrefutable evidence; a dismissive response with no logical foundation just to get me to go to sleep. At worst it was because my mother and father wanted me dead.

Because duh, of course you can’t see a monster once it deploys and subsequently hides behind a cloak of invisibility. I mean, come on people, that’s basic Monster Defense Strategies 101. If they took my concerns seriously, either parent would’ve grabbed the Mossberg and started spraying double-aught buckshot underneath my Serta so I could get a perfect sleep. But who am I to question those in charge. I’m only six. I’ll go it on my own and make do with the tools at my disposal.

In hindsight, the lack of rational thinking at that age reveals my immature naivete. How did I believe that remaining motionless while wrapped in my 250-thread count, Rocky and Bullwinkle sheet was the key to survival? How did I think a bed sheet pulled over my head was adequate camouflage for postponing a creature’s ambush? Such a futile tactic. If my opponent was shrewd enough to avoid detection from adult prying eyes, upon emerging it knows the first place to inspect would be that trembling mass on the bed. With one swipe, my defenses would have been breached.

And then there’s the closet creatures, who were on standby for when the bed monsters went on holiday. Being denizens of the darkness, through evolution they would have understood the fundamentals of turning off an overhead light. A pull chain has one movement with an immediate result when yanked. Even with razor-sharp claws, the CCs had the fine motor skills to turn off the illuminating ceiling light my dad left on for me moments prior so they could carry out their attack concealed by the shadows.

In the end, my parents were correct. There was nothing under my bed. Or in my closet. Or outside my window. Or in the attic, basement and garage. They humored my over-stimulated imagination concocting overblown anxiety. They let this be part of the learning process involving critical thinking and problem solving.

The mind never stops being a persuasive influence. It creates dire situations and then later reminds you, “There was never anything there. It was only me running wild.” No matter what stage of life you’re in, your brain can convince you to believe or not to believe. To conquer or concur. To live and learn.

Still, I can’t help but wonder though, will what I’m afraid of today seem baseless tomorrow? I’ll have to ask the thing that goes bump in the night. It knows all the answers.