It Came From the Other Side of the Bed

Holly was startled awake by a noise.

It had stopped now. Nothing but silence.

A glance at her phone. 02:00.

Sleep was essential. Tomorrow she was helping her sister move house. Moving in with her boyfriend. Of course, he couldn’t help. Football was on. Couldn’t possibly miss one game to support the woman he loved as she started their new life together. Arsehole.

Eyes closed. Thoughts refused to follow.

Then, the noise.

The vibration shook the bed. The frame creaked under the strain. The sound dragged itself across the duvet, rotten and wet, crawling into her ears. It wanted her awake.

Perfect stillness. Eyes squeezed shut.

If her mouth opened, if a sound escaped, it would crawl inside. Past her lips. Across her teeth. Down her throat.

By morning, there’d be nothing left.

Just a husk.

Drained by the thing on the other side of the bed.

Silence again.

Carefully, her eyes peeled open. Fear lingered. The sound might still be there, waiting.

Nothing.

A breath escaped, one she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Flat on her back now, staring at the ceiling. Rest mattered. Tomorrow mattered. She was going to tell her sister this was a dreadful idea. Moving in with him. He was awful.

Holly had always tried to see the good in people. Life was easier that way. Otherwise, the bad took over, and bad was always easier to find. Dismiss. Move on. Never give anyone the chance to surprise you.

She’d tried so hard with him. But there was nothing there. Nothing redeemable. A unique specimen. They didn’t make them like that anymore.

Turns out they do.

And her sister was drawn to them like a moth to a very arrogant flame.

This time, the noise came first as a feeling.

Angrier now. Hungrier. Ready to find whatever dared share the bed with it.

A turn. A flash of bravery. Gone the moment it came into view.

Hard to make out. The shape wouldn’t settle, folding and reforming. Each version worse than the last.

Red eyes stared back. Her sister’s. Tears streamed endlessly. Every tear he’d caused. Every one caused by any of them. Soaking her face.

They pleaded.

Holly didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Disappointment replaced the pleading. Then anger. Help was needed, and she lay frozen.

Would she really let her sister make this mistake?

The answer hit all at once. She had to get through this.

Those eyes had been seen before.

Uni. The house. Waiting for her sister to come home.

The boyfriend had stayed over. Came out of the room around two in the afternoon. A surprise. If she’d known, he’d have been roped into cleaning. No way he hadn’t heard the industrial racket.

A smile. Half returned.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Well, I was feeling okay this morning. Even better now it’s the afternoon.”

A laugh. A bottle of wine from the fridge. “Perfect time for wine and a catch-up with the old sister-in-law.”

Refusal hovered. Then sod it. She’d never gone to uni. Might as well see what the fuss was about. And maybe find where the good in him was hiding.

At first, he was charming. That’s how they work. Nice guy. Not like the others.

Then the mask slips.

Arsehole.

The wine never seemed to go down. Still full. Yet the tipsiness crept in. Probably sitting on top of last night.

“I really like your sister.”

A smile. Maybe charm. Maybe wine. Maybe both. For a moment, it made sense. Attractive, in a nineties boy-band way. Funny. Attentive. Interested.

Maybe she’d misjudged him.

“It’s just sometimes I think we’re not meant for each other.”

She sat up.

“She seems a little immature. Perfect otherwise.” Too much now. Unloading. Uncomfortable. “You’re so alike. Could be twins.”

Eyes locked.

“You’re just more together. More grown up.”

He moved closer.

“She really likes you,” Holly said, standing. Kitchen. Wine in hand. Distance. “Have you spoken to her about it?”

The turn. He was right there.

Leaning in. Arm on her hip.

Frozen. Mouth open. Words trapped somewhere between panic and disbelief.

His breath hit her face. Alcohol stung her eyes.

The kiss.

A shove. Another attempt.

A kick. Solid contact.

He doubled over.

“You bitch!”

She ran. Air. Phone. Sister.

No answer.

That evening, she told her. The same furious eyes. He’d already spoken. Jealousy. Envy. Accusations.

There had been moments. Brief, shameful ones. But not enough to matter.

She left.

Two weeks later, he cheated. Holly picked up the pieces.

Now, staring into the abyss perched on her pillow, doubt crept in.

Say nothing. Wait it out. Help after the fallout.

The noise returned. Claws scratched. Fingers reached. Fumes burned her eyes.

A kick. Contact again.

It thrashed. Louder. Worse. Rage and terror tearing through the room.

She scrambled back. Fear spiked. Had she given it a reason now?

Silence.

No comfort in it.

Backwards, inch by inch, until the cold edge of the bed pressed into her spine.

Waiting.

Run? The door always stuck. It would never open in time.

The explosion of sound came without warning. Physical now. Violent. Crushing.

She slipped.

Hit the floor.

Air gone. Gasping silently.

Stillness.

Breathing felt too loud.

Memories crept in. Eighteen and sixteen. One indifferent to attention, the other desperate for it. Especially from the worst ones.

Then the crying. Night after night. Forcing its way into Holly’s room.

Picking up the pieces. Always.

She didn’t mind. That was her job.

She just wished she could stop it before it hurt.

That wasn’t how their family worked. Let people make mistakes. Learn the hard way.

But why was emotional pain treated as less serious?

If she survived this, everything would come out.

The noise searched all night. Lunged. Missed.

Eventually, her body gave up.

Morning light felt like mercy.

Slowly, she sat up. Looked over the bed.

Nothing.

Sunlight helped. Courage, fragile but there.

Warm sheets. Ordinary comfort.

Eyes closed.

Then, a noise.

Movement behind the door.

The handle turned.

Not claws.

Him.

Coffee. Sleepy smile.

“You okay? You look shattered.”

A mug pressed into her hands. “I wasn’t snoring again, was I?”

“I don’t think they work either.”

A sip. Too hot.

“Sorry. Big day. Thought I’d make breakfast. Prevention over cure.”

“It’s okay.” Phone unlocked.

One message.

From her sister.

Heart stopped.

Then relief.

Coffee later instead of moving. Doubts. A conversation.

She breathed.

Collapsed back into the pillow.

The bed hummed softly beneath her.