Ghost Story

The Quilt When I was little, Grandma always warned me, "You have to pull the quilt up to your chin, or 'that thing' will grab your feet." I never believed her. Until one winter, when I was eighteen. Stubbornly, I deliberately only covered myself up to my chest. I woke up shivering in the middle of the night. Even though I hadn't opened any windows, the room felt like a freezer. I tried to pull the quilt up, but it felt like something was pressing down on it, making it impossible to move. Then, I felt a cold sensation on my ankle. It felt like someone was lightly gripping my foot with their fingers. I froze, too scared to move. The sensation slowly slid upwards, from my ankle to my calf, like a snail crawling, cold and sticky. I squeezed my eyes shut and recited Buddhist chants. The presence paused for a few seconds. Then, I heard a voice right next to my ear, incredibly close: "Didn't your grandma tell you it doesn't just pull your feet if you don't cover your chin?" I snapped my eyes open. Somehow, the quilt had been pulled up to my chin. And underneath the quilt, it was bulging, like someone was curled up inside, pressed tightly against my body. After that night, I obediently pulled my quilt up to my chin every single night. But I never saw Grandma again.