When I was a little girl of about 4 or 5 me and my mother
lived alone in an apartment. The apartment had two
bedrooms and me and my mother shared one.
Well, one night I was in our bedroom while my mother was in the kitchen
washing dishes. I was sitting with my back up against the
bed and I has my dolls all lined up beside me against the
bed and against my mother's bed. I was talking to them
about the Devil, saying that he was bad and to beware of
him when I felt something knock on my back three times from
under the bed. I did not look under the bed. I got up and
ran out to my mother and told her. Now, my mother was into
religion then and she did believe me. She had gone through
a divorce from my father who was a minister but, believe
me, was a horrible, abusive person. She went into the
bedroom and read a passage from the Bible. Nothing like
that happened again, but I was terrified to go into that
bedroom alone or to the bathroom since it was just a few
steps down the hall.
The only other things I used to see
were black "rats", as I called them, run out of the wall
and across the floor and into the opposite wall. I never
saw them clearly, mind you, they were only a blur. But
I'm not sure I would have wanted to get a good look.
Thank God I never did. This is the only story I have for
now, and believe me, those of you out there who are
nonbelievers will never know just how much I wish this
story weren't true. I still have trouble to this day
sleeping in a bed thats up off of the floor. I'm
struggling with myself not to get rid of the frame on my
new bed and put it down on the floor where I know there
will be no space underneath. You can't possibly know what
kind of horror that instills in a child and they are
condemned to carry that with them forever.
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