I Heard a Noise Under My Bed… What I Found Still Haunts Me (2 of 3)

I stiffened.

My first instinct was to pretend I hadn’t noticed. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe it was the dog shifting in the other room. Maybe—maybe—it was nothing at all. But the noise came again, a little louder, a little clearer. This time, I couldn’t dismiss it. It didn’t sound like the house settling or the hum of the heater. It sounded… deliberate.

I didn’t move. Every muscle locked tight as my mind scrambled for an explanation I could live with. Something rational. Something safe. But deep down, a quieter voice whispered the old fear I’d buried with childhood: What if something’s under the bed?

I reached for my phone with trembling fingers. The glow of the screen felt like a shield. With a swipe, I turned on the flashlight, the narrow beam slicing through the shadows that had suddenly taken on a weight of their own.

I inched toward the edge of the bed.

It felt ridiculous—like a scene from every horror movie I swore didn’t scare me. But still, I leaned over, slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. The light trembled in my grip as I pointed it underneath.

Dust. Socks. A pair of old sneakers. Nothing more.

I let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half embarrassment. Of course it was nothing. Of course there wasn’t anyone hiding in the dark. Still, as I climbed back into bed, I couldn’t quite shake the sensation that something had changed. The silence felt different now. Not comforting. Not still.

I lay awake for hours, listening. Waiting. Wondering.

And even now, a part of me keeps glancing at that space between the bed frame and the floor—waiting for the rustle to return.

Because what if this time, I was right to be afraid?