Bedtime.
Defenses are down.
Now the only thing between me
and the Wickerwax
is Agent Ted E. Bear.

It lives under the bed,
but can't survive in light.
When you think it's safe,
he grabs you tight
and pulls you
in the blink of an eye.

Many have fallen to the Wickerwax.
Dinosaurs, ponies, a Spongebob doll
(although it was a little creepy anyways).
Agent Bear is all that remains.
I know I'll be safe.

He's escaped my grasp,
where is he?? I gasp.
Oh, he's right next to me.
Too far for comfort, just let me-

Oh no.
He's fallen off
I rush to the side to see how far away he is.
He's out of reach...

And as the room fills with the smell of rotting meat,
a lone hand stretches out from under the bottom of the sheets.
The hand is skeletal, and crudely thatched.
The fingers are thin, long, sharp, and the arm to match.

It grabs the bear and pulls him under,
its nails dragging deep veins in the floor.
I want to scream, but the odor chokes me.
It'd have blinded me were it not already to dark to see.

As my bear's last paw slips away,
I hear the faintest, foulest voice say,
                                                            ­     *"There's not much else you can do,
                                                             ­       but down here,
                                                           ­         there's always room for you."