The Bed That Swallowed Us

It was a bed that shouldn’t have existed.

Kara and Sam had never imagined a king-sized bed could pose a problem. After all, it was supposed to solve problems—give them more space, more comfort. But the first night they slept in it, something strange happened.

Kara rolled to the far side, as she always did, but this time she couldn’t find the edge. Her fingers groped against cool, empty sheets where Sam had once been. She sat up, glancing around in the dim light of their bedroom. It felt… off.

“Sam?” she called, her voice a soft whisper, the room too vast for her own comfort.

A muffled grunt answered, but it didn’t come from the usual direction. Kara turned her head to see Sam’s head poking out from beneath a pile of blankets on the opposite side of the bed.

“I think… I think I’m lost,” Sam mumbled.

Kara furrowed her brow. “What? You’re right there!”

“No, no, I’m actually lost,” Sam said, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “The bed’s so big, I can’t find my way back to you.”

Kara laughed at the absurdity, but then, as she tried to move closer, she found herself slipping further into the abyss of blankets, swathed in layers of plush fabric like some kind of tangled monster. The bed felt like it was swallowing them both, each blanket a hungry, soft maw.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Sam’s voice was suddenly low and serious.

Kara froze, straining her ears. There it was—the faint sound of creaking from somewhere deep within the bed.

“Is that… a monster?” Kara asked, her heart pounding, half in jest, half in dread.

Sam didn’t answer right away, but his face turned pale in the dim light. “I think we’ve got more than just a giant bed, babe. I think the bed… might actually be alive.”

Before Kara could respond, the first of the monsters emerged.

A long, spindly arm—no, a tentacle—slithered out from under the blankets, pillows and shams; wrapping itself around Kara’s ankle. It was covered in soft fur, almost like the fabric of the sheets, but much colder. Kara yelped, trying to kick free, but it only tightened.

“Sam!” she cried out, panic setting in. “It’s got me!”

Sam, now wide-eyed and fully alert, scrambled over the mountains of comforters to reach her. His movements were awkward and clumsy, but he finally grasped her wrist. “Hold on!” he shouted. “I’m coming!”

But the bed seemed to respond to their distress. More tendrils appeared, curling up from the corners, slithering around them like a trap. They were caught, completely overwhelmed by the vastness of the bed and the bizarre creatures that seemed to come with it. The monsters weren’t fearsome, really—just strange and needy, wanting more space, more attention, more warmth.

“We’ve got to figure this out,” Kara said, her breath shaky. “We have to get out of here.”

Sam’s face softened, and he nodded, his hand finding hers in the dark. “Together?”

“Together,” Kara said, squeezing his hand.

In that moment, they realized the monsters weren’t trying to hurt them. They were simply lost too. The bed, this sprawling thing that had promised comfort, had pulled them away from each other, wrapped them in chaos. But the only way out was the same way in—together.

With a determined grunt, Sam pulled Kara toward him. The bed shuddered, groaning as if protesting their unity, but the tentacles retracted, giving way to their escape. Sam and Kara crawled, hand in hand, through the tangled mess of blankets, avoiding the slithering things that were only trying to draw them deeper into the abyss.

They finally reached the middle, where the bed wasn’t as overwhelming. Sam collapsed beside Kara, panting, and the two of them shared a quiet laugh.

“Well,” Kara said, wiping a tear from her eye, “I think we learned something tonight.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice warm and affectionate. “We’ve got to stop buying such big beds.”

Kara grinned and snuggled up to him. “Or at least, stop letting it separate us.”

They lay there, the room still and peaceful once again, the monsters vanquished—or perhaps simply satisfied for now. They stayed in the middle, content in their shared space, but they both knew something had changed.

The next morning, they dismantled the massive king-sized bed, piece by piece, as if freeing themselves from the tangle of blankets and creatures that had nearly swallowed them whole. They worked together, their laughter filling the room, as they shrank the mountain of comforters down into a more manageable pile. The bed no longer felt like a luxurious sanctuary, but more like a dangerous labyrinth they were better off leaving behind.

Kara stopped mid-screwdriver twist, looking up at Sam. “What do you think? A queen-sized bed? Smaller, but cozy?”

Sam met her gaze and smiled. “I like it. No more getting lost.”

They made quick work of it, soon having a new queen-sized bed set up in the corner of the room, and the giant, monstrous king-sized bed now broken down and piled in pieces.

Once they finished making their bed, they set the dismantled bedframe and mattress on the curb with a “FREE” sign attached.

As they stood on the porch, arms around each other, watching the neighbors walk by with curious glances, Kara turned to Sam and said, “Good riddance.”

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled. “I think it’s time we found our way back to each other—and to a bed that actually fits us.”

And with that, they turned inside, closing the door behind them. It wasn’t just the bed that had changed. They’d found their way back to the simplicity of being together, no monsters or sprawling emptiness between them—just a smaller, cozier bed to share and, more importantly, each other.