The wait between when I called and when he finally came, seemed like an eternity at that point.
However, finally and thankfully the door burst open. As I lay there curled in my blanket now bathed in the light of the hallway.
The bottom bunk, the resting place of my unwanted visitor, was now absolutely awestuckingly empty and peaceful as if it had never been there in the first place.
I cried and weeped as my father consoled me, holding me in his arms.
Tears of fear, followed by relief, streamed down my tiny face. Yet, through all of the horror and relief, I did not tell him why I was so upset.
I could not explain it, it was as though, I feared, whatever had been in that bunk would return if I even so much as spoke of it, or uttered a single syllable of its existence.
Whether that was the truth or not, I do not know, but as a child I felt as if that unseen menace remained close, listening in to my every word.
My father laid in the now empty bunk, promising to stay there until sunrise.
Eventually my anxiety diminished as tiredness pushed me back into sleeping, although I did remain restless waking up multiple times from nightmares due to the momentary sound of rustling bed sheets.
The next day I remember not putting up a fuss thinking as my parents put me into the car.
I wanted to go anywhere, be anywhere except for that small dark suffocating room.
Luckily, it was a short trip to my cousin's house and so we went. As we laughed, ate, and played. The memories of the night before faded from my mind.