As if alerted to, and disgruntled by, my presence, the disturbed sleeper began to toss and turn violently, like a child having a tantrum in their bed.
I could hear the sheets twist and turn with increasing ferocity.
Fear then gripped me, not like the subtle sense of unease I had experienced earlier, but now potent and terrifying.
My heart raced as my eyes panicked, scanning the almost impenetrable dark. I let out a cry then covered my mouth.
As most young teenagers would in that type of situation, instinctively shouting for my father.
After a few moments that felt like minutes to a young scared mind.
I could finally hear something stirring on the other side of the old farm house.
As I began to breathe a sigh of relief that my parents were coming to save me, the bunk bed suddenly started to shake even more violently as if the bed were gripped by an earthquake, swaying and scraping against the wall.
I could hear the sheets below me thrashing around as if tormented by malice.
I did not want to jump down to safety as I feared the thing in the bottom bunk would reach out and grab me, pulling me into the darkness.
so I stayed there, white knuckles clenching my own cotton summer blanket over my head like a cape of protection.