I was used to night calls. Usually it all ended in trifles — noisy neighbors, a lost dog, teenagers with firecrackers. That evening the patrol was especially quiet: my partner and I were already yawning from boredom.

And suddenly — a little girl ran out of the entrance. Pajamas with bunnies, bare feet, a face covered in tears. She ran straight to our car and barely managed to whisper:

— Under my bed there is a man. With a mask.

At first I thought — child’s imagination. But in her voice trembled real panic.

We went up to the apartment. The mother smiled awkwardly and assured us that her daughter often “saw monsters in the corners.” The girl’s room looked calm, under the bed — empty. My partner already wanted to joke, but I stopped him:

— No. There is too much terror in her eyes. Let’s check the cameras.

And right there we found confirmation. On the entrance recording, something was clearly visible that sent chills down my spine.

We scrolled back the recording from the entrance camera. The timestamp was barely fifteen minutes earlier.

A tall figure in a dark hoodie entered the building. The face was hidden under a smooth, featureless mask, pale as porcelain. The figure moved strangely—slow, deliberate steps, almost gliding. He carried nothing in his hands.

But then… the recording glitched for a few seconds. When the image cleared, the masked man was gone. No one saw him leave.

My partner muttered, “Maybe he’s still inside.”

The girl, standing behind us, clutched her teddy bear so tightly her knuckles turned white. “He’s under my bed,” she repeated, trembling.

I exchanged a glance with my partner. The mother laughed nervously:
— You see? Imagination. Children are like that.

But her smile faltered when I asked:
— Ma’am, if your daughter always sees “monsters,” why did the camera show one?

Her face drained of color.

---

Searching the Apartment

We drew our guns and searched every corner: the bathroom, the closets, even behind the curtains. Silence. Everything looked ordinary.

Finally, we returned to the girl’s room. I knelt down again by the bed, this time pushing further. My flashlight beam swept across the dusty floorboards—empty.

Then I noticed something: a gap between the wall and the floorboard, slightly lifted, like someone had pried it open.

“Cover me,” I whispered to my partner. I pressed the edge of the floorboard. It shifted… and a cold draft hit my face.

There was a hollow space under the bed — far deeper than it should be. A crawlspace.

And inside… a faint scratching.

---

The Horror Revealed

We pulled the floorboard fully open, and the stench of damp earth rose up. In the beam of my flashlight, I caught sight of drawings scratched into the wood: crude stick figures, all with round white masks.

Suddenly, a whisper echoed from below, hoarse and mocking:
— She told you I was here. Clever girl.

The girl screamed.

Something moved fast in the darkness of the crawlspace. My partner swore and aimed his gun.

But before he could fire, a hand in a pale mask shot out from the hole and grabbed his ankle