The monster under the bed.

As a child, when you fell asleep in your room, you always pulled the covers up to your chin. You knew something lived in the thick darkness beneath your bed. You heard the dry scrape of claws on the parquet, wet sighs, and quiet giggles. Your parents would only sigh wearily, "Monsters don't exist." But you felt this cold, clammy fear. The thing in the shadows wanted you to be afraid.
Years passed. You grew up and went to study in another country. Childhood fears seemed ridiculous, you almost forgot about the Beast. For summer vacation, you returned to your parents' house. Your old room greeted you with silence. You lay down, comforting yourself with memories, but as soon as you turned off the light, the room was enveloped in stifling darkness. A scraping sound was heard in the silence.
Your heart skipped a beat. The air grew thicker, and the ancient fear returned. To prove to yourself that no one was there, you decided to turn on the light. But as soon as you lowered your feet to the floor, icy, impossibly long, and pale hands clamped down on your shoulders. They were unnaturally strong.
"Where are you going?" came a dull, seething voice, full of years of anger.
It crawled out from under the bed. The creature's face was gaunt, white, with long black hair. Its mouth, stretched into a mad grin, revealed sharp teeth.
“You’re back…” the creature whispered. “You’ve been away for so long. I missed you.”