It started as a sound. A low, wet scrape against the floorboards under the bed. Then another. Then a heavy, rhythmic dragging, like something massive shifting its weight in the dark.

The blanket at the foot of the bed stirred. A shape—long, sinuous, darker than the shadows themselves—slid out from beneath the frame.

Then the sleeping figure stirred. An arm flopped over the side of the bed, searching blindly. The monster froze.

The hand found purchase—on its shoulder. And pulled.