What Lurketh Beneath the Bed
Sweetie Belle woke with a start. Something was wrong.
It was that simple feeling of trepidation that filled her heart. A tiding of ill things to come. The precursor to panic. That feeling you get after you eat a huge spoonful of ice cream, but are waiting for the onset of the inevitable brain freeze.
Of course, the only logical assumption was that a monster was currently watching her every move, stalking her. What other nefarious creature could possibly be stalking her at this late hour of 3 o’clock in the morning, as illustrated by her conveniently placed alarm clock on the nightstand next to her bed? There was simply no other possibility. Lingering terror from a nightmare? Nonsensical. A simple bout of paranoia? Preposterous. Indeed, every sane pony simply must conclude that there existed some terror from beyond, some unspeakable horror of the night, hunting her.
The only question was where Sweetie’s nemesis was hiding. She wasn’t afraid, of course. Only newborn foals were afraid of such creatures, for the so-called “monsters” fed off of fear, and simply pretending they didn’t exist was often enough to cause them to disappear altogether. Still, some inbred instinct in the pony’s mind (not exclusive to Sweetie Belle, of course) was inciting unwanted nervousness within her, and she was sure that she could not dispel even this derivative of fear without finding and laying eyes on the monster itself.
She gulped anxiously (not fearfully, as she carefully assured herself), and let her eyes roam across the room. Every monster chose to hide either in the closet or under the bed, without fail. Of course, the closet was easy to check visually. A cursory glance revealed that it was completely open, and, perhaps unfortunately, empty. Although laying eyes on the demon was always the worst part, it was like taking bad medicine: better to just drink the awful syrup outright than to waste time moaning about it.
But now Sweetie Belle would have to investigate under the bed. Checking safely was always a tricky business. She had to be careful to get a good look at the beast in order to allay her fears, but even a merely anxiety-fueled monster could have sharp enough teeth to do serious damage, or maybe even break the skin, if she attempted to jump off the bed outright. So instead, she would have to dangle her head over the edge of the bed very carefully, and then cautiously survey the area beneath it in order to view and thus safely destroy the monster.
Armed with this plan, Sweetie Belle slowly slid out of her covers and moved towards to precariously position her head off of the bed. This tactic was very risky, but she saw no alternative, so finally, with a gulp, a deep breath, a mental pep-talk, a prayer to her deity of choice, and a confident smile, she lowered herself and made eye contact with her enemy.
She saw a shimmering pair of chartreuse eyes (for yellow-green is a color beneath a filly of such stature) glare back, and immediately was filled with dread. She began to hyperventilate as she felt the monster’s power wash over her. The eyes themselves seemed to grow, and a harsh growl emanated from the demon, reeking of malice. A steely glint flashed from the murky darkness, and Sweetie Belle shrieked and jumped back to the safety of the top of her bed as a set of wickedly sharp claws sliced the air apart exactly where her nose had been.
Gasping for breath, Sweetie frantically tried to calm her mind. She knew every moment this monster kept her panicked was a moment it was feeding off of her fear, growing stronger and stronger until it became impossible to banish without assistance from her sister, which she DID NOT want or need. Instead, Sweetie Belle tried to minimize her opponent, attempting to make it as clownish as possible without envisioning it as a clown itself, for clowns were easily more terrifying than any monster could hope to be. So she took her admittedly lacking knowledge on this particular creature and put it to use. Those bladelike claws were tiny little digits on a white, furry paw. Those horrible, alien eyes were set on a feline face, just beneath a purple bow housed on a tuft of fur.
Sweetie Belle nearly facehoofed. She could easily envision the monster as but a relative of Opalescence. Although Opal herself sometimes scared Sweetie with an unmatchable level of feisty aggression, the mental illusion needed to finish off the monster need not include such details. Instead, Sweetie imagined it as if it were as sweet as Fluttershy’s pets (except for Angel, because Angel was a pain in the flank, utilizing a word Rarity would never let her use out loud). It wasn’t a monster; it was a cat, perhaps even a kitten, simply looking for love. It would jump up into her lap, purring sweetly as she would smile and pet it.
Sweetie Belle felt the tension in the air drain away, the kitty’s power over her broken at last. Grinning in victory, Sweetie once again glanced under her bed, unsurprised to see that the monster had vanished altogether. Instead, she saw Opalescence, the real one, and gently reached out with a forehoof to pet her on the head. The cat, as cats often do, decided to claw at her so she hastily pulled back, but nevertheless Sweetie was thankful that the noble Opal had given her the inspiration needed to slay the foul being beneath her bed.
Eventually, the noble and harried Opal grew tired of Sweetie’s well intentioned attempts at petting her, and dashed for the safety that existed beyond the open bedroom door. Sweetie watched her savior go with sadness, but was forced to admit, reluctantly, that despite the excitement of the night, she really needed to go back to sleep. But with the avatar of evil vanquished, the aura of unease that had originally filled the room had vanished, and now there was nothing stopping her from reaching her well-earned rest. So with a happy mind and a guarantee of safety, Sweetie Belle closed her eyes and drifted off once again.
