Then the clock struck twelve

Alec woke with a gasp as the clock chimed, his nightmare still playing before his eyes. His brother Robbie, who loved to torment his younger sibling, had been telling ghost stories before bed time.
Alec didn’t know if the chime that woke him was the first of midnight, or the fifth or the tenth.
‘The monster lives under your bed,’ Robbie had whispered, ‘He’s always there, watching you. He’s waiting for the right moment to slither out and creep over the side of your bed. His icy fingers will inch across the sheets, searching for you…until he finds your face.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Yes you do. You’re whiter than your pillow and your voice is wobbly.’
‘It’s not!’
Alec was lying and Robbie knew it. Clambering to his own bed he’d said over his shoulder, ‘On the last stroke of midnight - it’ll be coming for you.’
Another chime struck. How many was that? Alec had no way of knowing.
Clutching his sheet, he shivered - but the scream that pierced the night wasn’t his.
As Robbie fled the room Alec fumbled for his bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. Something scuttled into the shadows beneath his brothers bed.