[ WP ] Monsters under the bed are real and the only protection from them is teddy bears , you are a retired bear telling one of your stories .

Most monsters are small, about 12 inches tall. They're black or dark purple, with shiny fluorescent scales and beady green eyes that glow like tiny tritium beads from their sunken demonic sockets. Their claws are a full two inches long and can slice a bear from stem to sternum with one swipe, rendering even the finest mohair protective vests completely useless. A wormhole appears under the bed and they begin to crawl out, staying under the cover of the bed for as long as possible until they reach a critical mass, writhing and squirming on top of one another in a rush to go over the top and onto the bed when the harvesting can begin. They showed us a video of a harvesting in basic, the worst damn thing I've ever seen. The bear on duty that night stationed himself too near the bedpost, and was subsequently overrun and knocked unconscious. The whole incident was captured on a baby monitor, sound and all. The guy sitting next to me passed out, his fur white as a sheet. `` This is what happens when you get complacent!'' Our DI shouted over the sound of ripping flesh and shredding bed sheets, the flicker of the projector imprinting his scowl in my psyche. Someone in the back of the class began retching but fortunately nothing came out of his fluff-filled belly. 
 
 So it was on my 22nd evening on duty, when I sat under the silver pallor of a full moon in my master's bedroom that I heard the sound that made my stomach drop and my feet go numb, the sound of a clinking and tapping coming from under the bed that sounded like a dozen hungry rats skittering and clawing at the metal support beams undergirding master's mattress. I gulped and reached into the toybox, feeling some small reassurance from the cold solid steel of my TBM2 machine gun, my belt-fed beast of fury. I let it rest on my knee as I inserted the first link into that bitch, pulling the charging handle back to chamber an incendiary tracer round with a heavy thud. I let the bipod rest on the edge of the chair my master always set me on at night, while I watched him snuggle with his preferred toy, Mr. Unicorn. For a second I let my sights rest on Mr. Unicorn as I felt my paw caress the trigger longingly like the dress of my date on prom night. `` Later.'' I told myself. From the gaping maw of darkness under the bed, about 8 feet away I perceived some movement. Not sure if my eyes were playing tricks on me, I focused on where a ray of moonlight reached tentatively into the pitch black. Pulsating there in the light was a formation of creatures, clawing over one another in blind, bloodthirsty anticipation. They had reached critical mass. 
 
 I swear one of them lunged out, even though the video recording later proved otherwise. `` A bear never fires until the monsters leave the cover of the bed,'' I remember my commander admonishing me, freezing the tape and pointing at the glistening golden streak of the tracer round with his Baton. `` But otherwise, great job.'' A rare compliment coming from SSgt Grumbles. 
 
 My first shot was a miss. The tracer hit the metal bed frame, richocheting with a loud TWANG. Master instantly jumped awake, just as I opened up on the outpour of monsters with Paddington's Buzzsaw. In his excitement master threw Mr. Unicorn to the side of the bed, where the little pearl white bastard lay dangerously close to falling off the side. I felt a surge of adrenaline as I eased off the first burst, a smattering of monster parts strewn on the floor. I was lucky in that master had drawn his covers up over his head and lay shivering on his bed, so I had no risk of a friendly fire incident. There was barely time to catch my breath as more monsters began to pour out. 
 
 The first one was carrying a little red flag, which he started to plant in the carpet before a tracer caught him right in the neck, severing his ghoulish head from his body which then fell onto the flag pole and impaled itself in the middle of the battlefield. Not more than five seconds later, as I squeezed the trigger there was a ghastly click and the room fell silent. I pulled the charging handle back and saw two cartridges smushed against each other, jammed. I tried fingering the casings out but burned my paws on the red-hot chamber, the action thoroughly locked up. Several monsters peered up from the carpet, their pointed teeth glowing white amongst the stars I saw from the muzzle flash. I tossed aside my $ 3,000 club and jumped down from the chair, drawing my combat knife from the sheath on my hip. Shit was about to get real. 
 
 I lunged at the first monster and stuck my blade in his chest, tearing it down and out from between his legs in one swoop, splattering purple blood everywhere. The second one was not so easy. My knife lodged in his left shoulder, leaving his right hand free to swing and claw my face. I felt a stinging pain just under my left eye, as my stitching came undone and the side of my mouth lost all feeling. I grappled him onto the ground and pinned his arm with my paw, pulling the knife up to re position it over his face. He reached up with his free hand and caught the tip of the knife with his hand right on the downswing, gripping the blade with all his might. He let out a blood-curdling screech as the razor sharp edges tore into his fingers, leaving the knife hovering an inch from his eye. I struggled to push it down while keeping his other arm pinned. `` For Teddy Ruxpin!'' I shouted and slammed the knife down with a sickening crunch, his fingers sliced clean off. I rolled off his corpse, blood running down my face and matting my fur. I reached up and touched my cheek, where three long grooves had been painfully etched. And that, lads, is how grandpa got these scars.
