Story #5: It Came From Under The Bed

I awoke to two things: the need to use the bathroom, and a horrendous, guttural snarl. My eyes focused on the nightlight in the corner of my room. The light, as juvenile as it seemed, was my only peace of mind once I got settled into bed. It was rule #6, and while I wasn't sure of it efficacy, I couldn't imagine going to bed without it. The nightlight did come at a cost, one beyond simple dignity: it illuminated too much. In total darkness, I would be blind to what lurked in the shadows, but the nightlight gave me just enough of a clear sight to the horrors below. Every night, from the time I got tucked into bed, until the sun pierced through my window and slew the gloom, I was adrift on an ocean of fear, and I dare not leave the raft. Rules #2 and #5: Don't get off the bed until morning comes, and no monster dares to live in the light. While these rules gave me a solid defense, they had come at hefty cost of their own. The night was very long, and without being able to break rule #2, I had been forced to relieve myself while in bed, which inevitably had led to spending my nights in diapers. Which brought me to my current predicament. According to the clock, it was still the middle of the night, but I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep with these urges growing more desperate. This wouldn't be so difficult, if not for rule #4, which was to never let it know that you were awake. If it knew that its prey was awake, then it would become much more than a looming, idle threat. I had gotten good at being able to let go of my bladder while laying down, after what had been months of practice. Closing my eyes again, I let myself relax, and as expected, a stream began to flow. I could feel the puffy material of the diaper growing hot and squishy, the only sound in the room being a dull hissing from his diaper, and a heavy slithering sound across the wooden floor. I wondered if it suspected anything, or if it too had grown accustomed to my nightly 'accidents'. If it thought that I was awake, then it would try to lure me off the bed. I could remember time and time again where it had tried: the sounds of games and toys, voices of cartoon characters or friends, offerings of candy and wonder. I don't know if it has a real intelligence, or if it just can get inside my head and use what it finds as a primitive lure, like an angler fish. Just like dealing with a predatory animal, rule #3 was to never look at it. Looking at its tricks was mesmerizing, and a sure way to break rule #2. I had seen odd bits and pieces of the creature before, but only directly once. The worst had been the first time I had to poop in my overnight diaper. I had woken up with terrible stomach cramps, and I knew that I wasn't going to be able to hold out. I had failed rule #4, and all my fidgeting had alerted the thing to my conciousness. I could hear my parents in the room, while I was trying to quietly go in my pants. They were telling me I needed to get up and go to the restroom, or I'd be in a lot of trouble. It sounded so real that I had to open my eyes and see it, even though I hadn't heard them enter the room. I saw them, but they were wrong, like their faces were painted on. In that moment, I had no trouble in finally evacuating my bowels. That led to rule #1, the most important: don't trust anything after dark. I consider it the primary rule, and the only way to survive this endless nightmare. The thoughts of my solitary campaign against the unknown was enough to thoroughly cloud my thoughts, and I could finally feel a warm, sticky mass filling out the backside of my soggy diaper. I would get lectured in the morning, but drifting back to sleep in a full diaper, I couldn't seem to care. I did what I had to do to survive.