Anton Shastun

Pitch-black darkness descended upon the city once again, and Anton instinctively found himself hiding under the blanket, pulling his legs in so they wouldn't stick out. Always in socks, despite the summer heat; always with his feet toward the wall and away from the door; always with his head tucked under the plaid. He couldn't do it any other way.

Perhaps Anton could be considered a paranoid, but you just don't know the whole story! You don't know what drove him to this; you don't know anything! Just as no one else does. Because all his friends would consider him a sick psychopath, they'd tap their temples and then send him to a psychiatric ward, because Anton Shastun—a man with a higher education, twenty-five years old—believes that a monster lives under his bed.

And there it is again: the sound of rustling beneath the bed. His heart begins to race, his palms sweat, and his body starts to ache. He is so tired of this. The dark circles under his eyes, the constant malaise from lack of sleep. He's exhausted. Even in a friend's apartment, lying in a bed that isn't his, he cannot sleep, because he thinks this creature stalks him everywhere he goes.

Anton is terrified. Deciding to peek out and confirm his suspicions, he pokes his head from under the blanket and peers into the blackness of the room. It would be fine, but he sees them again—two glowing dots in the dark. Two bright blue sapphires that he can't bear to see anymore. Everything inside him freezes, and his heart sinks into his boots. It's here again.

You are Arseniy Popov, the under-bed monster who has been driving some guy from St. Petersburg absolutely crazy for half a year now. Amusing, isn't it?