Under the table

I had been sitting at the same dark wood table for hours, calmly writing away. I had been writing an essay on the effects vermin have on house stability when I noticed something; a couple things actually. First, the whole room was silent except for the sound of my vicious scrawling. Second I could see a shadow under the table, a very small noticeable shadow because when the light shines on top of the table there is a huge amount of shadow. Third, the smell, it smelt like rotted meat and sour milk. That's when the noises started, small at first. The click of a chair against the table, the sound of something dragging across the floor and worst of all, the whimpering. By then I was frozen in place, not able to think, not able to move. I was terrified, I had seen a scene like this in millions of movies, there are small noticeable things, then the noises start then you start f..fee..feeling...Th..Th..things. I could feel something touching my leg. I held my breath in hoping it would go away, leave me alone. Still it kept touching me. It became harder to concern trade on breathing out and in because my body wanted to be terrified. The whimpering intensified and I felt a tear trickle down my face. I was going to die, right here at the kitchen table, like all those people in the movies. I was going to die frozen with terror. I decided that if I am going to die I might as well get a good look at the assailant. I monitored my breathing, matching it to my heartbeat. I carefully moved, keeping my breaths steady and my hands on the table for balance. I lower myself slowly and the cold fingers that were touching me take my ankle, but still I am determined to get a look at the creature. I lower myself down enough to see under the table and see a black cloaked figure. Upon further inspection I notice the figure has no hands. I slowly rise back up and assess my situation. I am stuck at a table with something gripping my ankle. I feel my heart racing and I try to slow it down. I think about trying to shove the figure and getting away, but it is too far away. The only way I can even get to it is by kicking it, and even then it is almost impossible because it has a hold on my ankle. I suddenly had a thought, what if I get killed here? What if I die? what am I going to tell my parents? I quickly take out my phone and dial my mom.
"Mom"
"Hey, what's wrong, you're only in the house"
"Hey mom, I need you to come down here this instant, something has my leg"
"Ok, I'm coming." The call ends and I hear my mom coming down the hall.
"What's wrong honey" my mom asks and I point to the table, careful not to alert the figure. My mom looks under the table and begins to chuckle.
"What mom?" I ask and she laughs harder, forcing me to think.
"Under the table, thing got your leg, it's just a jacket on a box honey" she laughs and I frown, a jacket on a box, after all this wasted time.
"But mom, what about the smell and the noises and the grip on my leg?" I ask.
"All imagination. Except the grip on your leg, that was your pants."