It wasn’t like he’d ever believed in life beyond death or anything supernatural. He’d never even given it a thought. Even after seeing those supposedly terrifying movies with his friends in his youth, he would never feel scared from them and could sleep soundly no matter the hour he’d viewed the film. There were some who had a belief in these things and he understood that they were terrified of them, but he honestly couldn’t see it himself.

He believed that life was precious and worth living. It should be lived to the fullest so when he’d met her he didn’t hesitate. He’d have married her on the spot if he could, but when they did he was the happiest man in the world for the first time. When he became the happiest man in the world for the second time he was holding his newborn son, the boy small and fragile, crying in the cradle of his embrace as the infant gasped in its first breaths of air. Happiness was all he knew for a year or so after that, despite nights of less sleep or returning home from frustrating days at work – he could smile because he’d be with his beautiful family.

But none of that could last, it never could and if he was being honest with himself, he was wondering what kind of event would shatter all of the perfection life had thrown his way for so long. He’d arrived home, an ambulance and police car standing out the front of his home, both hazardously parked as if in a rush. The way his heart jumped in his chest was like nothing he’d ever experienced, terror filling him in moments as he leaped from his car and into the house, only to see the two ambulance officers approaching him in the hallway, stretcher between them and a white cloth silhouetting the love of his life. They paused at his appearance, staring at him as if realising just who they had come across.

The neighbour then, who had always been good friends with his wife, came from within the nursery, his toddler on her hip, tears in her eyes. He had found out later that the poor woman had found his wife on the floor in the kitchen and had called for an ambulance. There had been nothing anyone could do – she was gone.

He never had the chance to mourn properly, not completely. Never had he spoken a word to anyone about the event and wanted it to be kept that way. He even moved them to a new house to avoid every memory of her. All of his focus was now on his son and his son alone. His beautiful boy who smiled when he wiped his own Father’s tears away even when he shed his own and told him things would be okay, the boy who drew him pictures of houses and trees and animals while his fingers were covered in a rainbow of paint. There were no other problems again, not for a while. His toddler was growing nearer to the age he would begin school, the age where he could leave his child somewhere safe and he could return to his workplace full time.

It was this that had prevented him from realising it.

All children had an imaginary child, believed that there were things under their beds or closets. All children grew scared of things adults knew didn’t exist, this was why he never questioned when his son would talk about playing in the backyard with his friend ‘Kai’ and left him to it – missing that when the boy would throw the ball across the yard a force captured it and tossed it back to the black haired boy that laughed and complimented the good throw. He missed how his son slowly withdrew into himself, saying no one understood. Ever so slowly, he had started to lose bits and pieces of the son he had raised and when he finally realised it was all too late. The boy grew fierce, lashing out for no reason, hitting his Father and throwing things against walls, creating dints and shattering glass windows. The man, who thought he had everything under control, tried to solve the problem internally, hoping that more time spent with his son might solve everything.

But he was sorely mistaken.

The night it all ended had been a cold one, the small house chilly as if there was an eternal draft wafting through the halls even though all the windows and doors had long been closed and locked for the evening. He’d sent his son to bed long ago, telling him with a kiss to the forehead that he should read and he would come tuck him in when it was time to sleep.

Right on the dot, like always, he walked into his son’s room, the space so chilled he shivered with a visible breath leaving his lips. “Are you ready for bed, Taeminnie?” He asked the seven year old sitting on the bed with a book in his hands.

“One more page.” The boy replied, voice flat and emotionless – just like he had been for months.

“Taemin – ”

“One. More. Page.” The boy hissed.

Minho sighed, but gave in. “Alright. One more page.”

With silent satisfaction, the boy continued to read the light novel that was all large print and silly storylines, perfect for a young male. When it seemed he’d finished the page, he placed the bookmark in with absolute precision and put the book down on the bedside table, sliding under the blankets and waiting for his Father to pull them up to his chin.

Just like it had been demanded, Minho kissed the boy’s forehead and made sure the blankets were firm around his sons body, knowing how cold it was that night. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes.” The boy replied, voice as cold as the air.

“Alright, good night Taeminnie.” Minho muttered, standing to leave.

“Daddy.”

Expectant, Minho turned back, seeing a look of horror on his son’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“C-can you look under my bed?” His son inquired, suddenly so vulnerable. “I think there’s something under there.”

So used to his son’s mood swings, Minho complied, nodding and kneeling on the hard wood floor, moving his hands out to ease down and look sideways beneath the bed. What he expected were toys, boxes of board games or dirty clothes kicked under there – and although those things were there, there was also something else that had his eyes widening and his heart stopping dead cold in his chest.

His son stared back at him, lying under the bed, cheeks thin as if he hadn’t been eating and eyes bloodshot from endless tears. The boy gasped out a whispered sob, fingers clenching into tight little fists. “Daddy…. There’s something on my bed.”

now watch as the author scares herself while looking for a ing picture to put on this. why the hell did i do that. believe it or not there are horror movies called 'under the bed' and 'dont look under the bed' yeah. i wish i didnt know!!! for those who don't know i hate hate hate anything paranormal. they are scary and terrifying and after seeing The Conjuring i was shaking like a leaf for about 2 hours straight i'm not kidding.

okay so yeah the idea for this came from things i've seen on tumblr that are ing creepy. this one was where a father was tucking his son into bed when the boy says theres something under his bed, the dad looks under to see his son again who says there is something on his bed. so yeah i elaborated on that a little.

the idea is that there was a spirit of a boy living in the new house and it grew jealous of how minho cared for the new boy so he introduced himself to taemin and began to be his best friend but then brought him down with whispers etc. he then began to take taemin's form and left the real taemin under his own bed, waiting for his father to notice something was different - which didn't happen until it was too late >3 i'll leave what happens to them up to your imagination

okay so ima go now and write my other stories cos i need to update Redemption :/

tumblr if you want