I let out a surprised huff of air. The monster under the bed daylighted as a children’s party entertainer.
“Why, it’s little Last Clark,” he said, peering around me, “and she’s brought a friend.”
“Go away,” Last whispered.
“Hmm?” he asked, cupping his hand to a meaty ear. “What’s that?”
“Go away!” she shouted. Then, shoving me aside, she twisted her hands.
I braced, expecting a swarm of wasps or a shower of morningstars. But as she twisted her hand, the monster under the bed flicked a spray of red lights at her.
The nightmares slammed into her. They hit her skin and stuck to her like burrs. There were dozens of them. She looked down at them with horror.
“No!”
But it was too late. The red lights sank into her skin, digging in like ticks tunneling into her flesh.
“No! No!” She twisted her hands, but instead of conjuring, her illusion fell apart and died at her feet. “No. I don’t want to! I don’t want to!” She cried this, swatting at her arms. She sounded like a child begging. Then I realized she was. The little red nightmare balls pulsed at her cries. I could hear the voices inside them.
“Last, I never loved you. You’re the spawn of your father?—”
“We won’t be having children. I won’t be touching you. Ever?—”
“He burned my mother’s picture. He burned my?—”
Last crouched on the ground. She was seeing something other than what was in front of her. Her head turned violently one way and then the other. Her pupils widened until the black swallowed the brown. A low whimper escaped her lips.
“Let her go,” I said, stepping threateningly forward. “Release her. Now.”
The monster had been watching Last hungrily. He was drawing enjoyment from the nightmares staining her skin.
“She was always a delightful child. So many nightmares.”
Harry had been right. He was a coward. I lunged forward. At the last second, he dove to the side. He was surprised. Kids caught in nightmares didn’t fight back.
He threw red sparks at me. They caught my skin and sank in. Jagger’s blood devoured them, feasting on the pain.
The monster under the bed stumbled back, shocked. “You . . .”
I smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile.
The monster under the bed waved his arms. There was fear in his expression, and I could tell he didn’t like the feeling.
The floor—which, up until that point, had been mudflat-solid—became as viscous as tar. It made a squelching noise, and then I was sucked into the floor to my waist. I tried to push toward Last. She’d been consumed in the marrow floor up to her shoulders. I couldn’t tell if she knew what was happening or if she could only see her nightmares.
The monster laughed. “You may be immune to nightmares, but you aren’t immune to death. My tunnels are alive. And hungry.”
Oh. Oh no.
I’d heard of this. There were some creatures who were connected to their homes. Like a snail and its shell, the home grew out of the creature. These tunnels weren’t separate from the monster under the bed; they were the monster under the bed.
The walls were marrow-white, red, and pulsing like the gushing of blood through a living thing. In essence, they were a living thing.
The whole time I’d been traveling through the tunnels under the bed, I’d been traveling inside the monster under the bed.
I shoved against the tar-like substance. It was so heavy my legs barely moved. The pressure clamped down on me. I sank to my waist, and the marrow floor squeezed my abdomen and tightened over my diaphragm.
Could Last breathe? Her lips were turning blue. She held unnaturally still. The red nightmares still pulsed and whispered, but she didn’t make a sound.
