The possessed bed

This text is part of a collection of flatsharing tales.

These short tales are rooted in reality, but to protect the identities of the main characters (and the writer’s own safety), certain details have been altered. The reader is invited to decide what is fact, and what is fiction.

On a side note, the author wishes some parts of the details were indeed fiction, and not reality.

I’m in Wales, enjoying a weekend escape with one of my flatmates and her friend. It’s a lovely city, very alive, lots to do. We are having a great time. But this is not where this story takes place.

The story takes place at the same time, about 120 miles away, in the flatshare, in my bed. While I’m away.

And breaking with the usual narrative frames, we’ll start the narration shortly after ‘the main action’.

So coming back from the weekend escape, I enter my room in the flatshare and notice nothing out of place. There is a sense of something being off, though. I do a quick check up of the room - our remaining flatmate was having a party at the flat while we were away, so I make sure no one thought to help themselves in my room. But all looks good, unchanged.

A few hours later, I go to bed. Horror. Now I see it. I see why something felt off: my bed is ever so slightly moved away from the wall. And this is not normal.

See, I like to have my bed exactly against the wall. No gap. Don’t want some ghostly hands to creep up, some spiders to venture, some clothes to fall down to their dusty oblivion. But here there is a gap. It’s not much, but it’s a gap nonetheless. Fury rises up. Someone was in my bed over the weekend. But there is nothing I can do about it right now. I cover my pillow with a jumper, rest my head on it and try to fall asleep.

I wake up still furious and ready to investigate. I confront my flatmate as he gets out of the room, asking him if he gave my bed to anyone while I was away. He denies, how could I think of such a thing?! He is a respectful, lovely guy, and would have, of course, asked me before. Very convincing.

So maybe I’m overthinking that gap. I go to work and tell my woes. And wash my bed sheets that night, just in case.

A couple of days later, however, my flatmate does admit that he did sleep in that bed, to give his own bed to a girl who wanted to stay over that night. Trust harmed for sure. He lied to me, but how chivalrous of him to give my bed. I understand the need to offer safe shelter to a girl and avoid her a not so nice trip back home. So I get over it.

Two weeks later, however, the ugly truth unravels. The 4th flatmate, who was also present at the party, decided to come clean with me.

Flatmate number 3 did not, in fact, give his bed to that girl. He did give it to another guy present at the party. The damsel in distress who stayed over? She stayed over, with my flatmate, in my bed. And given the GAP, they clearly did not just sleep.

Liar, liar, his panties were on fire.