You don’t know what it is, precisely, that is under the bed, but when you hang your leg over the side in the dark… there’s a palpable sense of a monstrous presence. And the fact that it’s not specific actually makes it even more terrifying. The leg hangs there in the abyss between the top of the mattress and the floor like tempting monster bait. One can almost feel the fetid breath of the abomination concealed underneath the bed, tasting its own mouth in ravenous anticipation. As a child, I used to steel myself, hang the leg, and purposefully spelunk into the terror, which I would proceed to embellish to myself. I would make myself hang my leg there as long as I could bear it. Sometimes the fear became absolutely stygian. The universe seemed to throb with sinister, hungry, nameless malevolence. Back then, we all understood implicitly the secret that adults forget. That the space between the top of the mattress and the floor is another dimension. And at night, it transforms. And becomes hungry. Insatiably hungry.