Someone Under the Bed

I tucked my daughter into bed and turned off the light. “Daddy,” she whispered, “can you check for

monsters under my bed?” I knelt and looked underneath. My daughter was

there, shaking. “Daddy,” she whispered, “there’s someone on my bed.”

My pulse raced as I stood. The figure beneath the blanket looked just like her—same

hair, same pajamas. It turned its head and smiled. Then it spoke,

perfectly calm: “Daddy, there’s someone under my bed.”