What Was Under The Bed
976 Words
Mindy was alone.
The penthouse had gone strangely quiet after Ken rushed out. No footsteps. No voice. No sound except the low hum of machines and the distant city beyond the glass.
She stood in the middle of the room for a second, feeling smaller than ever. Then she grabbed her handbag and pulled out her phone and the hard drive.
She slipped the drive into her pocket.
As for the phone... it was the last real piece of her old life. Photos. Messages. Cheap jokes from Amanda. Missed calls. A thousand tiny things from the woman she had been this morning.
She sat on the edge of the bed and unlocked it.
Just as she was about to open her gallery, the screen flickered with a strange blue light.
She froze.
A loading bar appeared from nowhere. No app name. No warning. Just a clean white line crawling across the screen like it belonged there.
Then the display went black.
Mindy’s breath caught in her throat.
The screen flashed back on again.
Camera feed.
Front camera.
A live selfie view of her own terrified face stared back at her. Wide eyes. Pale skin. Shaking lips.
She nearly dropped the phone.
They were watching her through her own device.
No... worse than that.
How long had they been watching?
The phone crackled suddenly like an old radio trying to catch signal. Static hissed through the speaker. Then a woman’s voice slid out of it. Smooth. Cold. Almost playful.
“Don’t run.”
Mindy stopped breathing.
“Every step you take only makes the signal stronger,” the woman whispered. “We’re already in the lift.”
Mindy’s head snapped toward the penthouse entrance.
The biometric lock beside the front door glowed green one second... then changed to a deep blood red.
Her stomach dropped.
Ken was gone.
And the enemy was inside.
She ran without thinking and threw herself behind a dark wooden desk in the corner of the study. She tucked her knees to her chest and clamped a hand over her mouth.
The apartment door swung open.
Then footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Certain.
Combat boots crossed polished floors with dull thuds that seemed louder than gunshots in the silence.
“The signal is bouncing,” a man’s voice growled. “Tracker says she’s right here, but the room looks empty.”
The woman answered through his earpiece, loud enough for Mindy to hear.
“She’s there.”
A faint laugh followed.
“I can hear her breathing.”
Mindy’s body went ice cold.
“She’s definitely there,” the woman continued. “The GPS on her device is pinging. She hasn’t turned it off. Pfft... she couldn’t turn it off even if she tried.”
The voice sounded amused. Like this was a game.
A shadow stretched across the floor and crept closer to the desk.
Then closer.
Then closer.
“The phone, Mindy,” the man said. His voice was dangerously near now. “Last chance.”
She could see his boots from under the desk. Black leather. Thick soles. Dust on the sides.
Her fingers searched blindly beside her.
They brushed something hard and smooth on the lower shelf inside the desk cabinet. Plastic.
She pulled it free.
A television remote. Heavy and expensive.
Her pulse slammed in her ears.
She kept the phone and drive in her pocket, gripped the remote tight, drew back her arm, and threw it with everything she had toward the far side of the living room.
It smashed against a wall.
“There!” she screamed. “Take it!”
The man reacted instantly.
He spun and charged toward the noise.
Now.
Mindy crawled out from the other side of the desk so fast she nearly slipped. Her knees hit the thick carpet hard. Pain shot upward, but she ignored it.
She saw the hallway.
Then ran.
She did not look back.
Fear made her faster than pride ever could. Her body moved like lightning, all weight forgotten, all doubt burned away by survival.
She reached the master bedroom, slammed through the heavy door, and shoved it shut behind her. Lock. Bolt. Chain.
Then she dropped against it, sliding to the floor.
Her lungs dragged in air like broken machines.
Hands shaking, she pulled out her phone.
The Jeff alert still glowed red across the screen, lighting her frightened face from below.
Out in the hallway, the man realized he had been fooled.
He came straight for the bedroom.
The first hit against the door made the frame jump.
The second rattled the walls.
The third sent a shock through Mindy’s spine.
But she did not move.
Her eyes were locked on the phone.
The home screen had changed.
A new app sat there. White background. Black eye symbol. No name under it.
“I never downloaded this,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “I’ve never seen this before.”
Another slam hit the door.
Wood groaned.
Mindy swiped upward to open the menu, but her finger touched the icon by mistake.
The screen went black.
For one second she thought the phone had died.
Then it flashed back on.
Everything looked normal again. Her usual wallpaper. Her usual apps. Her old life pretending nothing had changed.
But a notification slid across the bottom of the screen.
Unknown sender.
Mindy stared at it.
With everything happening, hesitation was natural. Maybe it was another trap. Maybe another voice inside her phone. Maybe someone playing with her mind.
The door shook again under another hard hit.
She opened the message.
Her blood turned cold as she read it.
Who sent this?
How were they seeing her?
And why did it feel worse than the man outside the door?
UNKNOWN: DON’T OPEN THE DOOR, MINDY. THAT MAN ISN’T WHO YOU SHOULD FEAR. TAKE A GOOD LOOK UNDER THE BED.
- Writer
