Scary Stories (To Be Told At Night)

Underneath The bed.

Tony Barnet was a strange child. In all sense of the word. He wasn't like the other children you'd find in the playground; he was different, in so many ways. Unlike the other kids, Tony never liked to play outside, he never really wanted to paint pretty pictures, or join in with any games the other kids played.

Instead, Tony liked to think. He thought of everything, and anything that his mind brought up.

Strange for a child, yes, but he had his reasons. As I said, he wasn't like the other kids.

You see, his parents both suffered from severe schizophrenia, and it got passed onto him when he was born. For years after his birth, Tony battled with the voices in his head, from such a young age. He was three when it started, and fourteen when it ended. Of course, when it finally ended, it ended him, too. Hence, this is written in the past tense.

Anyway, when Tony turned seven, his parents started to see a change in him. He got worse. The thoughts inside his head were telling him to do things; things that seven year olds would never even think of doing. His mind played tricks on him, made him do unspeakable things to not only himself, but to other people as well.

The doctors advised his parents to take him to a hospital, where he could get the right treatment, but they refused. They didn't want Tony to be bombarded with unfamiliar people, medications, and miss out on his childhood. So they risked everything, just to give him what any other seven year old would want. It never occurred to them that without the right treatment, Tony's condition would only get worse, until he could no longer manage it anymore.

Tony didn't know it at the time, but he was slowly dying with every waking second. The thoughts inside his head were tempting him, trying to get him to do things he shouldn't. They were tormenting him, and he wasn't going to last long.

By the age of eight, Tony had gotten way worse than expected. He wore black, and locked himself away in his room half the time. When school days came around, he'd refuse to leave the house. His parents were trying their hardest to get him to cooperate, but the voices were telling him to rebel.

Nobody knew what he was doing whilst his bedroom door was shut. It was a mystery, really. His parents would often stand by his door at night, and press their ears against the door.

They could hear talking.

And it wasn't Tony's voice.

Every night, Tony's parents would stand outside his door, listening to Tony and the unfamiliar voice talk. They were too scared to ask, too petrified to wonder. His father would try and peek through the gaps in Tony's door, but it would never work. The door was always locked when Tony and the 'voice' were inside.

Years passed, and nothing changed. Tony grew older, and at the age of eleven years old, he still locked himself away in his room. His parents started to get even more scared, not only for their child, but because of the unknown voice. They didn't want to think of who it could've belonged to. It wasn't Tony, that was for sure.

However, things started to change when Tony turned thirteen. He started to come out his room more often, and he'd attend school regularly. He'd try his hardest to socialise with his parents, and the people at school, but he would find it hard because of the voice inside his head telling him to do otherwise. Tony started to wear not-so-glum clothes, and sometimes ditched the black t-shirts and trousers for band tees, and jeans.

He was finally turning into a normal kid.

Or so they thought.

There was something odd with Tony, something wrong with him. He wasn't acting right, and his parents started to realise that.

Tony's father seemed to notice more than his mother, as he was curious to know why his son had suddenly decided to changed. So, with many thoughts and scenarios in his mind, his father decided to visit him in his room one night, when Tony was just about getting into bed.

His father felt like he had missed out on so much of Tony's life, so he sat and talked to him for a while, and all the while Tony listened, and talked, and laughed with him. For a few minutes, his father thought that Tony was finally his son, but then something happened.

Tony looked up at his dad as he was starting to stand up from his bed, and a sly grin made its way onto his face. His father, stunned, waited for Tony to say something. But he said nothing.

"Are you alright, Tony?" he asked, confused ultimately.

"Can you check underneath the bed for monsters, please?" Tony's evil grin turned into an innocent smile, and his father chuckled, finding the question rather amusing. With a nod, his father looked underneath the bed.

And as soon as he did, he felt like screaming.

Underneath the bed, was a boy, a familiar boy; his son, quivering, shivering, clothes ripped, cuts and bruises covering his pale skin, and a heartbreaking frown on his face, looking at his dad with a broken look as he stared back at him. "Dad," Tony began, his voice breaking as he slowly began to fade, "There's someone on my bed."

Poor Tony, so naive, so young, so stupid. He should've never decided to ignore me. He should've listened to what I told him. Maybe then, he would've lived.