I don’t remember being afraid of monsters under my bed as a kid.

Sure, I had a couple of nightmares about flying monkeys, the Wicked Witch of the West, and the evil queen in Snow White. But mostly I remember making my dad check the closet for nefarious criminals and living in fear that a fire would trap me in my room. I’d huddle under my sheets and little six year-old me would imagine that I’d fling my desk chair through my sliding glass door if I needed to escape.

…Right, like that would have been possible.

My fears that I can actually remember (though my parents may know differently) were rooted in reality– things that could actually happen.

And now, at almost 22, I’m moving in 2 weeks. I’ve been in this house, in this room for 2 years. I’m cleaning up in an effort to make packing easier.

And for the first time in my life that I can remember…

…I’m actually afraid of what’s under my bed.