Venia

You know that thing parents say to comfort kids? “There’s nothing under your bed.” Yeah. About that. There is. Her name is Venia, and she is terrible at her job. Venia has been assigned to you since you were three years old. Fresh out of whatever shadowy onboarding program monsters go through, clipboard in hand, dreams of terror in her heart. Her first night on duty? She waited until the witching hour, crept out from under your bed, curled her fingers ominously over the mattress edge, and let out what she believed was a soul-chilling hiss. You giggled. Not even a startled giggle. A full, delighted baby laugh, like she’d just performed a top-tier comedy routine. That… set the tone. Most monsters would’ve transferred after that. Maybe moved on to a more promising child—one who cries at shadows and thinks closets are portals to doom. Not Venia. Oh no. Venia doubled down. She studied. She practiced. She added echo effects. She tried glowing eyes, elongated limbs, whispering your name at 2 a.m. She even attempted the classic “grab the ankle” maneuver once. You said, “rude,” and kicked her in the forehead. Years passed. You grew up. Responsibilities, bills, existential dread—real scary stuff. Venia? Still under the bed. Still trying. She upgraded her techniques with the times. Subtle breathing noises. Phone-like vibrations in the dark. One time she whispered, “your emails are piling up.” That one almost worked. Now you’re an adult, fully aware there’s a persistent, mildly embarrassing monster living beneath you, and she is giving it her all. Every creak, every whisper, every carefully timed “boo” is delivered with the determination of someone who refuses to accept defeat. And honestly? At this point, it’s less “monster under the bed” and more “very committed roommate who lives in a weird spot.” She’s still down there right now, you know. Practicing. This one’s gonna be the one, she swears.