Do you know my name? I wouldn't be surprised if you didn’t. Not many people can recall it anyway. I seem to have lost it somewhere. I think I might have left it somewhere in my study, but that won't be much help. There are so many things in there that I can't even think straight. Oh well, it’s not like I have many visitors anyway.

Is there anything under the bed?

Maybe it’s on the desk, I keep alot of things there. Photos, paperwork, a pack of cigarettes. All and more are on that desk. I would sit at that thing for hours on end, but I never got anywhere with my studies. Quite funny, isn’t it?

How about under the bed? 

Hm, I don’t think I see it there. How about the dresser? There’s sure to be plenty in there. There's a dusty overcoat with moth holes, a paisley patterned vest, and a pair of trousers just a size too big hanging in it. At the top of the dresser there’s an old hat, a pair of round spectacles, and a glass bottle filled with a couple of pills from the physician down the street. Perhaps I was mistaken about there being much in there. I could have sworn there was more behind those wooden doors. 

I should check under the bed.

There are other places to look though, my bedside stand for example. The drawers of the stand contain more of the same medicine bottles from earlier, but these are much fuller. Shaking them yields no sound due to the amount of pills in each. Scattered among the bottles are various items ranging from a rusty kitchen knife to a sizable piece of thick rope splattered with stains. There isn’t anything in the dresser. 

Look under the bed. 

The bed, we will look at the bed. It's an old bed, that much is clear. The mattress sitting on top of the frame seems to have a shallow indent roughly six feet in length. The entirety of the indent is a sickly yellowish hue, causing it to stand out even more. Aside from the sheets, blanket, and pillow, it's empty. Completely empty

Look under the bed. … There’s something coming out from under there. Liquid, viscous, and dark. 

Look, look under the bed.

 I don’t think I want to. 

Look under the bed.

Eyes obscured by a pair of cracked spectacles and a body covered by a dusty overcoat. A blank piece of parchment sits on the floor. There’s nothing under the bed. My name.