The nightlight flickered once, then died with a soft pop.

You sat up, heart already quickening. The shadows in your room thickened, the corners deeper, like they were holding their breath.

Mom said the bulb was fine earlier. She checked.

You lie back down, covers up to your chin. But it’s too hot. You slide one leg out, letting your foot dangle over the edge.

That’s when you hear it.

Click. …Pause. Click-click. …Closer now.

You freeze. The air near your bed suddenly feels cooler. Thick. Heavy.

You pull your foot up slowly—but just before it’s safe—

You feel a touch. Not a grab. Not a pull. Just one cold, clammy fingertip, brushing your pinky toe. A warning.

You yank your leg up and curl into a ball. You swear you hear something giggle. Wet, breathy, right beneath you.

You don’t sleep the rest of the night.

In the morning, your mom scolds you for dropping your flashlight under the bed.

You bend to look. It’s lying just out of reach.

Next to it, drawn in the dust— is a perfect smile.

That night? Something wet slurped at your toes~

“Mmnnph~ shlurp!”