Beneath My Bed, Her Ghost Waits / Chapter 2: Bound and Betrayed
Beneath My Bed, Her Ghost Waits

Beneath My Bed, Her Ghost Waits

Author: Johnny Berry

Chapter 2: Bound and Betrayed

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The next day, when I brought food to the woman, she was still crying. The tray shook in my hands as I nudged open the door. The room stank of sweat and iron—fear and old metal. She huddled in the corner, cheeks raw from crying, hair tangled across her face.

As soon as she saw me, she grabbed my arm and pleaded, “Where are my sons? Your house smells just like my boys—I know it does. So why can’t I find them? Where are they?”

Her grip was ice-cold and desperate. She looked at me like I was her last hope, eyes wild and searching. I could barely meet her gaze, guilt prickling at my skin. I remembered the greasy scent still clinging to Derek’s jacket.

I was just about to answer when my mother stormed in, holding a rope as thick as her thumb. She tied the woman tightly to the bed. Momma moved fast, jaw set, not meeting my eye. She yanked the woman’s wrists together and wound the rope around the iron bed frame, pulling it so tight the woman whimpered. Her hands shook, knuckles white against the iron. I tried to shrink into the shadows by the wall.

While tying her up, my mother pinched the woman’s fair skin twice and sneered, “Look at you—skin soft as a preacher’s wife. Bet you’ve had plenty of men take care of you, huh? Acting all high and mighty, but you’re just a tramp, crying for attention.”

Her words were poison, spat out with a bitterness that made me flinch. The woman recoiled, sobs catching in her throat.

I pressed myself against the faded wallpaper, wishing I could disappear. Momma’s temper was fire—everyone in the house knew not to cross her when she was in a mood like this.

After Momma finished venting her anger and tying the woman up, she left. Only then did I quietly approach the woman. I waited until the door clicked shut, then tiptoed closer. My voice trembled, but I tried to sound gentle. The room was so quiet I could hear the old clock ticking in the hallway.

“I’ve really never seen your sons. Why don’t you tell me what they look like? I can help you keep an eye out.”

Her eyes instantly brightened. “My sons—one is completely black, the other completely white. Both are chubby and very obedient.”

She straightened, hope flickering on her face. For a moment, she looked almost relieved. The words hung in the air, strange and vivid.

One black, one white, both chubby. I turned this over in my mind—and suddenly, my heart skipped a beat in terror. The image slammed into me: Derek with those raccoons, the greasy bones in the trash. My stomach twisted. Without a word, I spun and ran, nearly tripping over my own feet as I scrambled out, cold fear burning in my chest.

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