Monster Under the Bed

Something I have never understood is that if I was a monster, dangerous and horrifying, why would I remain hidden? Why under the bed? Why in the wardrobe? If I was dangerous and scary, people would definitely know about it.

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His mother always spoke about them, the monsters under the bed. Always said if they dared to set a toe out of bed, the monsters would get them. She spoke of its glowing green eyes in shadows under the bed, and its watering mouth as it waited in apprehension for the unsuspecting. Like any other child, he was going to test the boundaries of what was possible. One toe on the ground for one second. Then for five seconds. Then a foot for one minute. It all seemed so real, but so false. He feared that which he knew nothing about simply because he knew nothing about it. So scared of that which he could not see because how could something exist so quietly and so peacefully while he tossed and turned on an old, rickety mattress. How can something so silent, be so violent.

When his alarm sounded at seven o’clock he rose from his bed. Confidently stepping into the centre of the small room and putting on his creased school shirt and stained trousers. He then put on a beige sweatshirt with a swan logo woven, into the top right of the jumper. He followed his routine of brushing his teeth and having a shower before going downstairs to make breakfast for him and his sister. His mother would not normally be up before school so he, by nature, took responsibility for getting them both to school, given he was the older of the two of them. He was only two years older, yet he enjoyed school, especially maths. He loved solving puzzles and throwing himself into something, always distracted him from everything else. He was quiet at school, spoke when he was spoken to, heard when he wanted to be heard.

The walk home was something he dreaded every day. Seeing kids run and hug their parents, dump their bags before running free into the large field which lay dormant outside of the school, ready to explode at three o’clock with children of all ages. He, however, would find his sister, take her by the hand, and walk her home as quickly as he could. Neither of them understood why this was the case, but it was, and had been for some time. “When I get poorly, I get forced into school” he thought to himself. He frowned, staring at his feet as he scraped along the heat-cracked ground, which was a victim of the summer sun. It wasn’t a long walk but felt like an eternity. Being restrained in a mindless saunter full of his own immature thoughts, shackled, putting one foot in front of the other, until he reached his front door.

“Children should be seen and not heard.” That’s what his Grandmother would always say to him. As the front door to the house creaked open, him and sister removed their shoes and went to their rooms, the same haunting silence as that in which they had walked home. They remained in their rooms until dinner, beans on toast, with a sprinkling of cheese before once again returning to their rooms just as quickly as before. As the clock struck eight o’clock they both knew, no more leaving their rooms tonight, as the monsters under the bed would be quick to take advantage of the young children’s weakness.

By nine-thirty he lay, staring at the ceiling, feeling more awake than ever. Filled with a combination of boredom and rumination. His mind was in a state of deafening silence; a silence so silent it rung in his ears. His chest began to feel tight, like a snake wrapped itself around his precious and innocent heart. He had no water left next to his bed. Without a second thought grabbed his glass and walked to the bathroom. The creaking of the valve released water into his glass, as it was the only noise in the house at that time. Upon returning to his room, there it was. In all of its glory, if you can even say that. Perched on the bed frame, above his pillows. He recoiled backing into the door, which he never even remembered shutting. He felt a thin arm crawling down his spine as he was pulled back into his bed by the eyeless thing which he was now even closer to than originally. “I do not wish to hurt you; I only wish to help you.” The arm then sat on the boys’ shoulder and placed him down on the bed softly.

“Mum has told me about you. Are you going to hurt me?”

“Don’t be silly, they have no idea about me, nobody does. We are the same, you and I,” It whispered reassuringly. “Let me tell you a story.”

“I was young like you once, yet I was never scared of the monsters under my bed. My mother had just passed on, and they gave me lots of comfort. They whispered to me, reassured me, and loved me. They held my hand in the dark and released the numbness which I would feel every single day.” The creases of the boys’ arms began to faintly glow red as he scratched and clawed at them from his growing anxiety. “They protected me, gave me hope in a time where everything seemed hopeless. They were almost like ghosts. Good omens if you will and only I could see them. My grandmother was the worst. She hated children, but we lived with her for many years until I could finally leave home and go to Univer...”

“What are you,” the boy stated, without it even sounding like a question, yet the outburst was as a result of not being able to control his inquisitive instincts. He did not care for the life story, or for any sort of empathy from this thing which now sat comfortably in the darkness of the room.

“I am you,” replied the monster, containing a sense that this was obvious or a normality. “I know your past, your present and your future. I know everything about you. You do not have friends, but by choice. Your sister is the most important person in your life and will remain as such for the rest of your life. You dislike your mother; her lack of availability made you resent her to a point in which, in your mind, she no longer exists. Not that it will matter after the night is done.”

“Will she die?”

“She already has.”

By this point his arms bled and became torn and scarred. He went to jump up from the comfortable point in which he lay but was held down by the thing which now pressed him down. “You are not to find her until the morning,” as he imminently fell asleep.

Come 7 o’clock, his alarms rung like normal. His pillow was soaked with sweat, and his face was red. He looked at his arms, which were now purple and scabbed. The thing from the night before was gone. It must have been all a dream. Despite these thoughts, the house’s silence was broken by a high-pitched shriek belonging to his sister from across the landing. He dare not leave the safety and protection of his room. Nothing could get to him if he remained in the shadowy corner of his room, crouched down, back to the wall. There he sat awaiting the arrival of his Grandmother to drop off her morning dose, and until then, stay put in his room which now narrowed down to the corner which he crouched in. Not seen, and not heard. “They told me she was getting better,” he thought, with unimaginable anger, “they are liars.”

A few days later, he lay in a new bed, which itself lay on a new carpet, in his Grandmother’s house. Once again, unable to sleep yet paralysed by grief. He felt alone, with nobody to talk to, nobody to love him or tell him that everything was going to be okay. He firmly planted both his feet on the worn-down carpet and as he stood up they creaked and like it was a summoning ritual, the dark outline of a figure sat on his bedframe. No words were said. He felt the same reassuring, yet daunting grasp on his shoulder which urged him to lie back down in the foreign bed he would be forced to sleep in until adulthood. He wept into its dark shadowy shape as the monster finally consumed him.

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I now understand why the monster remains under the bed, out of sight. It’s because it simply poses no threat. It feigns love and reassurance, but when it comes down to it, it will consume those who it can.