When Nightmares Become Real

A father went to say good night to his seven-year-old son, knowing that skipping their nightly routine would lead to restless sleep. He entered the dimly lit room, where his son lay still under his blanket, only his head visible in the soft glow of the nightlight.

Something felt...off. His son looked the same—but that grin. It stretched unnaturally wide, teeth gleaming in the dimness. His eyes, usually warm and sleepy, seemed unusually alert, almost predatory.

“You okay, buddy?” the father asked, forcing a smile.

His son nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact, his grin widening further. "Daddy... can you check for monsters under my bed?"

The father chuckled nervously. It was part of the bedtime ritual, a playful request his son made every night. But tonight, the air felt heavier, the room colder.

Trying to shake off his unease, he knelt down and lifted the edge of the blanket. The darkness beneath the bed seemed impossibly deep, as if stretching into another world. His breath caught when he saw a pair of wide, terrified eyes staring back at him.

It was his son—his real son—trembling, pale, and barely able to speak. His voice came out in a strained, broken whisper:

“Daddy…there’s someone on my bed.”