It was dark, terribly dark. I remember looking out over the lip of my bed sheets, my eyes locked on the window that was placed so conveniently on the wall directly across from me. Had I been a few years older, perhaps sleep would have come much easier. Perhaps I wouldn't have seen the frightening vision that brings terror to my very soul even now.
      But I was young, a mere child. Fear swept in when the lights went off each night. My parents had installed a nitelight beside the bed for the distinct purpose of quelling my fear. Usually the soft glow of the nitelight provided a sense of security that gave me peace enough to sleep. Though sleep was not always an escape from the horrors of my imagination.
    Often times, I would awaken and find myself surrounded by writhing demons. I would scream at the top of my lungs only to find that no sound came from my lips. The terror would multiply to unimaginable levels. My body would freeze up, preventing me from running. And I would sit there staring into a thousand hateful red eyes.
    And then it would be over.
    I would find myself laying beneath my sheets in a sweaty heap of terror. I had been dreaming again. Oh how I despised dreams that disguised themselves as reality. I would spend the remainder of the night frozen beneath my sheets, afraid to fall asleep again. Even more afraid to climb out of bed and run to my parents bedroom.
    Yet on this particular night, I know that I was not dreaming. Not even the most twisted sectors of my imagination could have created what I saw that night.
    I knew from the moment I climbed into bed that something was wrong. My nitelight was dimmer than usual. The air was thick with a foul stench that seemed to slide into the room with the breeze from the window.
    I listened intently as to the barely audible sounds that emanated from the television down the hall. Usually their distant laughter gave me a sense of peace. Knowing that they were just down the hall always made me feel safer.
    For some reason things were different that night. Their voices sounded too far away, almost as though they were in another world. Another dimension, and I was trapped in my own cubicle of horror. I made a point of keeping my eyes closed, even as I hid beneath the sheets, I dared not move. Every individual breath was drawn and released with terrible precision.
    It was a horrible feeling. I knew that there was something staring into my window, its wicked eyes
locked onto me as I tried in vain to lay perfectly still. The stench had grown stronger and I could almost hear it breathing.
    It did not breath like a normal monster. Instead of abrupt and heavy breaths, it sounded like thousands of tiny insects gasping for air in perfect synchronization. It was as though the creature's entire body was a mass of tiny pulsing nostrils. It grew louder with each passing minute.
    Yet I did not move. Though I knew it saw me, it was well aware of my position beneath the sheets.
    There was a slight scratching sound at the window. I knew that it was preparing to slip in through the screen so that it could gobble me up. It would seep in like liquid and solidify at the foot of my bed. Then it would devour me and my soul would be locked inside it’s belly with a thousand other weeping children. I would spend eternity thrashing about inside the beast, never to escape.
    It was that thought that caused me to move.
    I eased my way towards the head of my bed. I could feel it’s eyes on me as I reached up and took hold of the edge of the sheets. I took a deep breath and yanked them down below my chin. There it stood. Peering into my window, a hideous grin spread across it’s pulsating visage. I can scarcely describe the horrible demon, for with every passing second it completed a frightening metamorphosis into an utterly new creature, each one more terrifying than the last. Beneath its rippling flesh, I could see dozens of tiny fingers grasping for a purchase as thousands of imprisoned children swirled beneath the surface of its skin, each individual face sliding into view for only a brief moment before it was replaced by a new one.
    The creature opened its mouth and spoke my name. Its voice nearly froze my body with fear. It spoke through the lungs of its prisoners. The anguished cries swirled together in one horrible voice,
    "David."
    I did not freeze up in terror as it had planned. Instead I ran.
    I leapt from my bed and darted out the door and down the hall where I fell in a miserable heap at my father's feet.
    I never saw the terrible monster again. Though it haunted me in my sleep for years to come. Slipping into perfectly normal dreams and tearing everything to shreds. I knew that it was not my imagination that had called the beast into existence, for its horror was and still is uncomprehendable.
    They say that we all grow out of our childhood fears. That adulthood refines us. Yet sometimes, as I lay in bed, I can hear it breathing. Cackling in the distance as it takes hold of its next victim.