Bump

Bump

By Christine Heriat

1.

“Oleeever, you can’t hide from me,” it said, with a voice sharp as a squeaky door.

The bed’s legs bumped against the wooden floor. Oliver groped around, eyes closed, searching for Billy Fantastic, his favorite superhero, but came up empty. The stench of putrid slime and dead rats smothered him. He pulled the duvet over his head.

“Oleeever, I’m not leaving until I see you.”

His bed rocked and shook.

“Oleeever, you’ll have to come out if you want Billy back.”

Oliver thought: No, the monster hasn’t captured Billy Fantastic. Right?

But he knew this monster, which plagued him every night, was capable of an act as low as stealing his favorite plushie.

He leaped from the bed and, from the hallway, crept into Tasha’s room. After his eyes adjusted to the dark, he inched toward the side of the bed unoccupied by his sister. He lifted the corner of the blankets and slipped in, imagining himself as light as a cotton ball.

Tasha rolled over. “Out. Now.”

“The monster has Billy.”

“Seriously?”

Tasha shoved her eight-year-old brother until he teetered on the edge of the bed.

“Please,” Oliver begged.

“Baby.” She pushed harder.

Oliver shimmied off the bed and tiptoed out into the living room, where, curled up on the sofa, he found Rocky. Oliver, shivering, grabbed a throw blanket and lay next to the sleeping dog.

Rocky sighed, jumped off the sofa, and padded into the darkness.

Another night alone, Oliver thought.

The next morning, Oliver dragged his feet along the sidewalk, half asleep. Nights spent on the sofa were uncomfortable and plagued by nightmares in which the monster chased him into the living room.

“Hey, buddy, we need to pick up the pace,” his father said, nudging his shoulder. “Remember, Josh is picking you up this afternoon.”

Josh, Oliver’s babysitter/favorite person and most trusted advisor. Oliver walked faster, as if it would shorten the time he needed to wait until he saw Josh.

After what felt like days and weeks, the last bell rang. Oliver dashed outside, where he found Josh leaning on a lamppost, his hands stuffed into his pockets, hair covered by a striped beanie.

“Doesn’t wearing a beanie when it’s hot make your head itch?” Oliver asked.

Josh shrugged. “It’s my signature, buddy, like a superhero cape.”

Oliver thought of Billy Fantastic’s purple eye mask. The mask transformed Billy from an ordinary kid into one with the ability to zap monsters using electricity sparked from his fingertips.

“You seem tired,” Josh said, as he pushed open the front door.

“The monster stole Billy.”

“But you got him back, right?”

Oliver shook his head.

“How can you abandon your favorite superhero?”

Oliver shrugged. He couldn’t tell Josh how much the monster terrified him.

“Monsters only come out at night,” Josh said, extending his hand.

As Oliver held his breath, Josh pushed open the bedroom door. Josh, once inside, dropped to his knees and slid under the bed. Oliver covered his eyes with his hands.

“Got him, dusty, but otherwise fine.” Josh shook off Billy and handed him back to Oliver.

Once they were back in the living room, Josh collapsed onto the sofa. “We need to take charge of this situation,” Josh said. “Do something unexpected, to show this monster what’s what.” Josh rubbed his chin. “Let’s hide garlic under your bed.”

“Doesn’t garlic scare off vampires?”

“Monsters too. True story.”

In the kitchen, Josh retrieved several cloves of garlic from the pantry, which he pushed under Oliver’s bed.

“Don’t worry, buddy, this will work.”

Oliver nodded. Who knew? Maybe Josh was right.

2.

Unwelcome extras came with the bumping and shaking that night: the odor of dead-body pizza and the sound of crunching teeth.

“Nom nom nom. Tasty snack, Oleeever.”

Josh had said the garlic would keep the monster away, and yet it reappeared, scary and terrible, with the world’s worst garlic breath. Was the situation beyond hope? Of course.

Oliver, despite knowing better, sprang from his bedroom, ran down the hall, and burst into Tasha’s room. After a deep groan, Tasha covered her head with a pillow, which Oliver tugged at but failed to move. “What are you doing?” Tasha whispered in a tight voice. “I have a math test tomorrow.”

“The monster …”

“How many times do I have to tell you, monsters don’t exist. Stay in your room, or I’ll wake up Dad. You know, if I do, he’ll take away your stupid Billy books for at least a week.”

A life without Billy books wasn’t a life. Oliver wrapped his arms around his body and shuffled out of the room.

He wondered, cold sofa or monster-fied bedroom? His stomach flip-flopped like it did when he rode rollercoasters.

As if she heard his thoughts, Tasha hissed, “Bedroom, immediately.”

Oliver’s eyes shifted between his bed and his closet. Was a potential monster in a dark closet or a certain monster in a Billy Fantastic nightlight-lit room worse?

He grabbed a pillow, blanket, and Billy. He curled up on the closet floor.

3.

Over crunchy apples, Oliver told Josh the story of the previous night. He omitted no details; he wanted Josh to understand the seriousness of the situation.

“Are you sure the monster ate the garlic?”

Oliver scrunched up his face. “I smelled it.”

“Let’s make sure.”

Oliver followed Josh toward his room, but waited in the doorway, watching as Josh fished a few papery garlic skins out from under the bed. “This problem is more complicated than we expected, which means we need to get creative if we want to outmaneuver this tricky monster.” Josh blinked twice. “It’s time for radical action: make friends with it.”

Oliver shook his head forcefully, like Rocky after a bath. “If this monster thinks garlic is yummy, he’ll eat anything.”

“We don’t eat our friends, right?”

“Too dangerous.”

“Don’t you trust me, buddy?”

Oliver trusted Josh, and, more than anything, he wanted to impress him. But he also wanted to stay far away from this capital S Scary monster.

“Let’s make a game of it. I’ll slide under the bed and you can practice making friends with me, as the monster.”

Oliver hesitated, shook his head, and in his most serious Billy Fantastic voice said, “Friend or death, Monster. You decide.”

4.

As the bed bumped and banged, Oliver wrapped his hands around the headboard to steady himself.

“Hungry!” The monster’s roar shook the windows. A stench, like a rotten egg fart, hung in the air.

Oliver closed his eyes, wanting to run, but he’d promised Josh he would attempt to befriend the monster. If he ran, if he chickened out before a single attempt at friendship, Josh would see him as Tasha did—a wimpy little kid. And more than anything, he wanted Josh to see him as a tough guy, a kid who didn’t allow himself to be pushed around by an under-the-bed-dweller.

“Snacks are for my friends,” Oliver said.

The bed’s movements reduced to a quiver. “Friends?” the monster asked.

“Someone I play with. Read comics, eat snacks with. Like my friend Josh.”

“Friends eat snacks?” The quivering moved from the bed into the monster’s voice.

“Yes.” Oliver rolled onto his back and made himself larger by stretching his arms and legs out. “What’s your name?”

“Name,” the monster whispered.

Oliver slid down, body shaking. But instead of looking under his bed, he focused on the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered on his ceiling.

“I’m Oliver. What’s your name?”

“Name?”

Rocky and Jasper didn’t have names when we got them, Oliver thought. He said, “I’m going to call you Bump.”

“Bump has a friend?” The rotten egg fart stench began to fade.

“Naming you doesn’t make you my friend. Let’s play a game.”

“Game?” The quivering in the monster’s voice became more noticeable.

“Stop repeating me and come out.” Oliver remembered offering Rocky a slice of cheese when he had wanted the dog to come closer. “Come out and I’ll give you a snack.”

Was Bump afraid of him? No, it sounded unbelievable. The bed banged for a moment, as if Bump writhed beneath it, and a shuffling noise started. He, forgetting his fear, glanced under the bed, where two fluorescent-orange eyes blinked. The eyes wobbled closer.

Oliver gasped, covered his mouth with both hands, and considered running. No, he thought, this is what I have to do.

Bump stepped out and stretched to his full height, which reached all of six inches. Smaller than Oliver’s Billy plushy. Bump’s round, fur-covered body was creepy, yet soft enough to snuggle. His scrawny chicken legs ended in brown feet, which reminded Oliver of roasted marshmallows stuck on a stick. How did this ugly-cute mini-monster make the bed shake?

“Snack, friend?” Bump asked.

From the pantry, Oliver grabbed a box of his favorite snack: chocolate peppermint cookies. Cookies so chocolaty-tasty, the monster would beg to be his friend. Back in his bedroom, Oliver tore open the box and handed the first cookie to Bump.

Bump held the cookie between two fingers, as if afraid of it. He sniffed it, deeply, on both sides, and his eyes and button nose scrunched up. He threw the cookie across the room. Bump’s body quivered, and a breeze stirred. The breeze became a wind, a gale, a tornado, which pulled open drawers and tossed over bins, scattering toys and clothes around the room.

Oliver dove into his closet and clung to the handle. The feeling—his burning hands, his tight arms—was the last thing he remembered.

5.

Room cleaning wasn’t a task Oliver enjoyed. In fact, he hated it so much that if anyone other than Josh had asked, he would have hidden in his treehouse. Instead, for Josh, he slowly returned his toys and games to their proper places.

“Oliver,” Josh said, as he remade the bed, “if Bump did this, you need to be firmer with him.”

“His tornado forced me into the closet.” Oliver couldn’t imagine spending another night holding the closet door closed.

“A terrible, scary experience, no doubt.” Josh sat on the bed. “Look, you bravely convinced him to come out. Convincing him to drop the Bump-nados will be easier.”

Oliver nodded, not because he agreed, but because he wanted to impress Josh with his bravery.

“You’re tough; you've got this,” Josh said.

6.

Oliver woke with an involuntary twitch, except the twitch didn’t come from his body, but from his bed. Twitching intensified into shaking and shaking into an earthquake. Oliver clung to his mattress, but despite his death grip, the duvet shook out from under him and landed in a heap on the floor. He repeated his mantra: I’m tough, I've got this.

Oliver took a deep breath, sucking courage from his toes. “Bump, stop,” he said.

The earthquake—the Bump-quake—continued. He remembered how his parents managed Rocky’s unacceptable behavior. “Bump. NO SHAKING!” he shouted. His voice sounded enormous, more Billy Fantastic than Oliver Green.

Oliver climbed out of bed and kneeled on the duvet. Hands trembling, he leaned over and peered under his bed.

A green haze partially obscured jagged rocks, which disappeared into an abyss. Three fingers from two brown hands gripped the top of the rocks, fingertips white from strain. Oliver squeezed his eyelids shut with enough force to hurt his cheeks.

He heard groans, his eyes flew open, and he watched the fuzzy top of Bump’s head vanish. He wiggled under the bed, gripped Bump’s hand and pulled, fighting an invisible force trying to drag his friend back into the void. Oliver’s hands burned, and he wanted to let go. But he didn’t. He tensed his body and pulled with a strength that made his back burn and his fingers ache.

WHOOMP.

The pressure of the release caused the two of them to fly backwards and out from under the bed. They landed in a heap on top of the duvet. Once they’d caught their breath, Oliver asked, “Are you okay? Hungry?”

Bump nodded in the only way he was capable: he folded into a bow. “Hungry,” he said.

“Before I grab the snacks, promise me something: you won’t destroy my room again.”

“Oleeever, I won’t.”

Oliver retrieved a bag containing two heads of garlic and the open box of chocolate mint cookies from the back of his sock drawer. Bump scrambled over the folds of the duvet, climbing the lumps and bumps as Oliver climbed trees. He bent his face toward the snacks and inhaled a deep, gooey breath. He shoved a head of garlic into his mouth. “Nom nom nom. My favorite.”

Oliver grimaced, took a cookie, and ate it in two giant bites. He asked, “Where do you come from? Do you have parents? Superpowers? How can your little arms stretch around my bed?”

Bump blinked, his massive upper and lower eyelids meeting in the middle of his bulging eyeballs. “You can come, my first friend. See my world.”

Oliver shook his head.

It was impossible for him to do that, to slide into that terrible place, to plunge into that stinking, sucking abyss. Unimaginable. Inconceivable. Other-ables.

Yet…Oliver had made friends with a monster, learned his monster friend was more misunderstood than scary. And he’d saved this new friend from whatever tried to suck him back. He was a hero in the making. A superhero in the making.

What does Bump’s world look like? He wondered. Tiny, Bump-sized house, a place where Bump rode on his shoulder, Oliver, a giant among tiny monsters.

What would kid-hero Billy Fantastic do? Oliver pulled toy Billy free from the duvet. He was tough; he had this. Then he took Bump’s hand and said, “Let’s jump.”

THE END