I haven't checked under my bed for a while. And there's a reason for that. The last time I did was five months ago.
I was looking for my new favourite toy, I had gotten for my birthday. A genuine Kermit the Frog muppet doll. All eager to find him, I went searching.
I kneeled down on the floor and lowered my head to see under my mattress. I drew a short shocked breath. All the plush toys I ever owned that had somehow made their way to the familiar losing spot. But something was wrong. The happy heads of the plushies were gone. Ripped, torn off. The stuffing fluff sprouting from their necks like stiff clouds. I was so confused and scared. I scanned the floor until I saw him. My Kermit was sitting upright, leaning against one of the legs of the bed frame. I felt a wave of relief. I shuffled my body closer so I could reach him.
Then suddenly, the muppet I thought I knew croaked a deafening noise. The croak turned to growling. Following was the slow rotating of the frogs head, where his large eyes locked onto mine in a deadly stare. In an instant,, his eyes flashed red like blood and Kermit lurched toward me, hands outstretched in fury.
In shock and unintentional muteness, I jumped up and hurtled myself out my door.
So there you have it. I'm terrified to go into my own room. I can't even sleep at night. In fact, I don't dare try. For he will know. But so far. We've been able to tolerate one another, just as long as we don't disturb each other.
