The Sheets
When I was growing up I had a pretty normal childhood. I was really fond of pirates. Back then I had watched all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. I would pretend to be a famous captain and even got my little brother Timmy to play. I called myself Captain Ginger Beard, so named after my red colored hair. My parents weren't exceptionally well off and we had a very small house, so my brother and I shared a room. He was four and I was six. Sometimes we'd get in trouble for staying up and sword fighting. Mom would put us to bed and scold us. This was our usual routine. But I'll never forget one day; it was incredibly hot and mom left the windows open. That night things went as normal, but mom’s bad mood caused by the warm weather stopped us from our late night play. I had been laying on my back thinking about the adventures of Captain Ginger Beard and his trusty first mate Timmy. Just as my brain finally began to relax and my eyes closed...I heard the noise. A scratching sound. It sounded as though something was on the hard wood floor. I whispered to my brother telling him that we could play tomorrow. But I heard his light snores and felt my heart in my throat. If it wasn't Timmy...what was in our room?
The noises continued for what seemed to be hours. Then, something quietly vocalized from the floor, "I slit the sheets, the sheets I slit. And on the slitted sheet I sit." I knew my brother and my mother well enough to know that the voice was not theirs.
I rolled over, hiding under my blanket. The voice continued repeating that same phrase. After what seemed like forever, the noise stopped and exhaustion took over. When I woke up the next morning my mom noticed how groggy I was. I relayed something had kept me up that night. I told her I had heard scratching. She entered the room and stopped dead in her tracks, looking at the remnants of what were once our bedroom curtains. They were slit all the way through and absolutely ruined. My mother picked up her broom and began knocking around under our beds to make sure there wasn't some wild animal inside like a raccoon or a rabid cat. But after a thorough search throughout the house, she found nothing. The next night came and my hope was to stay up and play this time. Me and Timmy began sword fighting in the dark when again I heard it. The scratching. I looked at him and without much question I could see it in his eyes. He was hearing it too. I tilted my head towards my bed and we both hopped in it. We hid under the cover peeking out. We watched as something rustled in Timmy's bed. And then it spoke again, "I slit the sheets, the sheets I slit. And on the slitted sheet I sit. Slit them by one, slit them by two, and under the sheets I slit you." We didn't sleep an ounce. Mom came in the next morning and shrieked. Timmy's bed sheets were ruined. Shredded like cheese. She called dad and insisted we get someone to investigate. Dad had called animal control. When they got there they searched for hours before finding an overgrown rat. Mom was relieved but Timmy and I knew better. We knew what we were hearing at night was not small enough to be a rat. None the less night came, mom replaced Timmy's sheets and we went to bed. I felt my heart drop as the scratching started up and I heard my brother whimper. Then came the voice. "I slit the sheet, the sheet I slit. And on the slitted sheet I sit. Slit them by one, slit them by two, and under the sheets I slit you. Slit you out, slit you inside. Now you have no place to hide." I peeked. Against the window on the new curtains there it was lit up by the moon. It was the size of a Rottweiler but had long arms. Its face was cat-like and I knew for sure nothing was like it. It shrieked loudly. That was a sound that would haunt me for perhaps forever. I watched as it lunged at my brother who screamed loudly. I felt a wet substance rain onto my blanket. I listened for my mother and father who were running down the hall. The light came on too late. The creature was gone. And so was my brother. All that was left was a massive pool of blood. I looked at my own sheet and saw the red substance there.
To this day we have never found my brother. My mother never recovered, not even after we left the house. I'm married now with kids of my own. It's hard to forget things like that. Just the other day I got on my wife for leaving the windows open because I can't shake that fear. She insisted that she couldn't just leave them down on such a beautiful day. But now I hear it every night; the sounds of the scratching and the terrifying poem. "I slit the sheets, the sheets I slit. And on the slitted sheet I sit."