Terrifying Monsters Under the Bed Urban Legend

A story about the urband Legend - The Licked Hand also known as Humans Can Lick, Too.

A storm raged outside, but she wasn’t afraid. Her dog was with her — loyal, warm, and always by her side. Each time thunder shook the house, she reached down from her bed and felt the reassuring lick on her fingers.

But morning brought silence, and something else beneath the bed.

Thank you for enjoying my podcast! Take a listen to the other podcast at Candlelight Storyworks

Midnight Scares - Fall Asleep to Spooky Storiesl
Candlight Classics - Classic Short Stories to Help You Sleep
Candlelight Romance - Fall Asleep While Falling In Love
True Crime by Candlelight - Drift Off to Dark Mysteries

Find them all on your favorite podcast right here:
https://linktr.ee/candlelightstoryworks

If you are tired of commercials, you can always follow me on Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/candlelightstoryworks

I am also writing a few horror and gothic romance books. If you're intrested, please follow me on my other Patreon at
http://www.patreon.com/sarahmarshalking

**While this is my voice, sometimes I use an AI cloned version of my voice because it helps with my dyslexia.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
The wind outside my cellar has a voice to night,
thin and persistent, like some one whistling through a crack
in the door. The fires fighting to stay lit. It
keeps sighing, throwing up sparks, then calming down again, like
it knows I'm watching. You can smell the rain coming
before it hits, that damp, metallic edge, like the breath

(00:23):
of something waiting. It reminds me of a story I
heard when I was a girl, the kind that isn't
about monsters in the woods or ghosts in the attic,
but the kind that lives in the places we think
are safe. It happened on a night like this one.
The girl's name was Emily, seventeen, quiet, one of those

(00:47):
kids who kept to herself and wrote her thoughts in
the margins of old paperbacks. Her parents were out for
the night anniversary dinner, something fancy in the city. They
left her a note on the fridge back by midnight,
don't forget to feed the dog. Love you. The dog's
name was Max, a big golden retriever with sleepy eyes

(01:11):
and a tail that thumped like a heartbeat against the
floor whenever she came near. He was her comfort, her warmth,
her silent bodyguard. By the time the clock hit nine,
the rain had started, the kind that fell in sheets
and made the world outside look blurred and unreal. The
wind rattled the windows, and the old house moaned the

(01:33):
way houses do. And there, remembering their age, Emily locked
the doors, turned on the small lamp by her bed,
and curled up under the covers. Max jumped up beside her,
circled twice, and settled on the rug next to the bed.
His breathing was steady, rhythmic, the sound of safety. Then

(01:54):
the power went out. The lamp flickered once twice and died.
The hum of the refrigerator stopped, the heater clicked off.
The whole house exhaled and went still. Emily's phone light
cut through the dark for a moment, just enough to
show the hallway beyond her door empty. Her heart beat

(02:18):
a little faster anyway. She tried the flashlight app but
the signal spun and the battery dropped to one percent.
The phone screen faded to black. Great, she muttered, just great.
Max lifted his head, gave a small whine, then lay
it back down again. His tail thumped once against the floor.

(02:42):
That sound that simple rhythm calmed her more than she realized.
She listened to the storm. It was almost soothing, almost.
Then came the first noise, a soft scrape metal against
metal from somewhere down stairs. It was so faint, she
thought she imagined it. Then another closer. Max growled low

(03:08):
in his throat, sh She whispered, reaching down from the bed,
her fingers brushed his fur. It's okay, boy. He licked
her hand, once warm, familiar, She smiled in the dark.
See it's nothing. The sound came again, a slow, deliberate

(03:32):
drag along the floorboards below. Not wind, not the house settling,
something alive moving. The radio on her dresser, the one
that ran on batteries, crackled suddenly, static bursting through the quiet.
Then a voice breaking news police searching for escaped convict

(03:56):
last seen near the old Highway. Residents advised to stay indoors.
Emily froze. The station faded back to static. She reached
down again, her fingers trembling, and felt that same reassuring lick.
Good boy. She whispered, half to the dog, half to herself.

(04:18):
Good boy. She tried to convince herself it was fine.
Her parents would be home soon. The storm would pass,
the radio had said near the highway, and that was
miles away. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something
was standing just beyond the dark, listening to her breathe.

(04:39):
She turned on the flashlight in her phone again, just
for a second, and checked the clock, ten forty three
p m. Only a little more than an hour. The
house creaked again, a slow, drawn out groan. Her mind
began filling in the gaps the dark left behind. Maybe

(05:00):
the wind had pushed open a door, Maybe a branch
hit the siding. Maybe dash, dash, another scrape, this one
right under her window. Max barked once, deep and sharp,
then fell silent. Emily held her breath. She could hear
the rain dripping from the gutters outside, the hiss of

(05:22):
wind through the trees, and something else, something small and deliberate.
Footsteps moving around the house. Dad, she whispered, even though
she knew it wasn't. No answer. Her phone buzzed once
in her hand, a text, unknown number. Are you alone?

(05:44):
Her chest went tight. She turned the phone off and
tossed it on to the night stand. Spam, she whispered,
It's just spam. The rain hit harder, Lightning flashed just
long enough to illuminate her room, the shelves, the dresser,
the half open closet door. The shadows seemed to ripple,

(06:07):
then darkness again. Emily reached down once more to touch
Max's head, to feel that wet tongue, that comfort that
meant she wasn't alone. He licked her hand again, slower
this time. Her heart beat steadied. Good boy, she whispered,
will be okay. Minutes passed, the house stayed quiet, her

(06:32):
body relaxed just enough for exhaustion to start tugging at her.
She drifted into that strange half sleep where dreams and
reality blend. Some time later, she didn't know how much later,
she woke to the sound of dripping, a soft, steady patter,
but not from outside. This was closer, from the corner

(06:54):
of her room. Max. She whispered, no answer. The air
smelled wrong, thick, coppery. She reached down again, hand trembling,
and felt the familiar wetness on her fingers. A lick.
Good boy, she said, automatically, it's just the storm. She

(07:20):
decided she'd turn on the light, get a glass of water,
maybe laugh at herself for being jumpy. She swung her
legs out of bed and stepped on to something slick.
Her bare foot slipped slightly. She steadied herself, turned on
the flashlight and looked down. Her hand was red. The

(07:42):
rug beneath her glistened darkly. Her stomach turned to ice.
She followed the trail of Crimson to the corner of
the room to max. He was hanging from the ceiling
fan throat, open, eyes glassy. His blood lud dripped steadily
onto the floor, onto the bed, on to her trembling feet,

(08:06):
and on the wall beside him, written in long, uneven
letters was a message, smeared in blood in all caps.
Humans can lick too. Her scream barely made it past
her throat before another sound joined it, the creak of
the floorboards outside her bedroom door, Slow, heavy, measured. She

(08:29):
turned the flashlight toward the sound. The doorknob began to turn.
She ran for the window, unlocked it with shaking hands,
and fell into the wet night air just as lightning
split the sky. She hit the ground hard, rolled, scrambled
to her feet, and ran barefoot through the mud toward

(08:50):
the neighbor's porch light. They found her parents' house an
hour later. The police said the back door had been
forced open, the storm had washed away most of the footprints.
They never caught anyone, but they did find something under
the bed, a torn strip of fabric, white cotton, stiff

(09:11):
with blood, too small to be a shirt too round,
too shaped, like a mask. Thunder rumbles outside my cellar.
The fire trembles, as if it's listening. You know. I
sometimes think about how easy it is to trust the
things we love when the world turns dark. A soft lick,

(09:32):
a warm presence, a sound that means you're not alone,
but not every comfort belongs to the living. The fire
snaps suddenly, loud enough to make me jump. Something upstairs
creaks an answer, I could swear. I hear movement, slow dragging,

(09:54):
maybe the cat, maybe not. The rain on the glass
starts to sound owned, almost like breathing. I keep my
hands close to me to night. I think I'll let
whatever's under the bed stay lonely. Keep listening to the
playlist if you want more. Otherwise, good night and sweet dreams.