Under the Bed

As you are drifting off to sleep, you hear a noise under your bed. You grab the flashlight you keep on your night table. You slither off the side of the bed, and hang upside-down with the electric torch shining its beam under there. At first, you see only old vinyl records and dust bunnies. Then you see it: a small bed under your bed. It’s a duplicate of yours, right down to the bed sheets and the ridiculous comforter with pandas all over it. And a smaller version of you is hanging off that bed, snake-like, his head upside-down like yours, shining a flashlight into the darkness below him. You can just make out another flashlight glowing inside that darkness where he is peering. Presumably another, smaller you is holding that flashlight. And then your eyes adjust somewhat, and you can just barely see another one under that third one’s bed. He is also peering into the darkness with the tiniest flashlight. Maybe you only imagine you see the silhouette of that minuscule figure. Probably, there is no end. When you snake back up into your bed, you expect to turn and see a huge flashlight shining in your eyes, and there it is, for a moment, blinding you. But it’s only the full moon in the window. It scared you terribly in those moments where you thought it was someone. Then you remember that you are the paragon of animals and fall into a bumptious sleep. While you sleep, your reflection in the mirror gets up and leaves the room. It has a deadline to meet . It has a deadline to meet in destroying the world. And it is nearly finished.