Under the Bed

It started with the wind. I had just moved into a small, two-bedroom apartment

just outside of town. Cheap, practical, with a narrow hallway,

a tiny kitchen, a small bathroom, and two rooms off the main area. One I used as my

bedroom, the other I left mostly empty—just a couch, a few boxes,

and the faint smell of old carpet. A few weeks later, my roommate Mark moved in.

I barely knew him; we were acquaintances from college. Quiet, polite,

mostly kept to himself. Everything seemed normal. But the first odd thing happened one

night around 3:17 a.m. I woke up to the creaking of old floorboards and the low hum