The Monster on the Bed

A six year old boy named Haydie makes a new friend after the tragic loss of his yellow ball. Slowly, Haydie learns the meaning of true monstrosity in a fashion that is much too familiar.

Alyssa O`Connor

The Monster on the Bed

Main theme: We create monsters, and then fear them for what they show about us.

It was a yellow ball. Bright saffron yellow, dappled with many small, shimmering speckles, glittering magnificently with every colour of the rainbow.
And it was big too; bigger and rounder than my head was, anyways. I often paraded about proudly, holding it aloft with my stout, squat arms, in front of my face; both of my chubby hands wrapped around it tightly, so that even though it obscured my vision terribly, I was sure to not let it slip from my grasp. In my infantile superiority, I found this to be quite clever.

So, the day that it became missing, I was angry. More furious than I had ever been previously, and it seemed, that I would ever be again. My big green eyes narrowed into slits and my sight hazed with rage, I swung open the huge French doors of my house, wobbling as I rose to my toes to reach the cold brass handle. I feverishly exploded into my immaculately orderly foyer, launching my mud spattered boots and yellow raincoat (from playing in the garden), across the room with such vigour that a large ivory lamp came crashing down from the old cabinet parallel of me.
I didn`t care, not in the slightest regard.
Spitting curse words and screaming loudly, I thrashed about, kicking, punching and clawing, and smearing my grimy pudgy hands on the furniture, until the burning crimson sensation that flowed from my eyelids to my fingertips had begun to cease. My flush face streaked with tears, I bounded past the window, its' thick brown drapes drawn close to conceal the grey overcast skies, and dashed up the creaky wooded stairs. I tripped twice over my feet, too juvenile to coordinate with the rest of my lumbering body, before I reached my bedroom, the fourth door on the right, wailing and sputtering pitifully in anguish. I flung open the heavy door and heaved myself limply onto the thin mattress of my bed. I sprawled my limbs out, and buried my damp face into my pillow until I stopped quivering and my hysterics had been quelled by the rhythmic ticking of my Superman wristwatch.
Suddenly, something moaned quite noisily.
My jade eyes shot open in alarm, and I sprang up with a start, the significance of my precious lost yellow ball diffusing like a drop of ink in a pond.
The long, drawn out whimper sounded again.
It was coming from underneath me; from the underbelly of my bed.
I was not frightened.
In my shrill, boyish voice I hollered indignantly, “WHO’S BENEATH MY BED?”
The short, stifled sobs ceased immediately.
My eyebrows drawn together, displeased immensely at the prospect of my visitor evading me, I barked thickly with an air of superiority, “COME OUT, FIEND, OR I SHALL FIND YOU MYSELF!”
The boxes that were neatly stacked below my bed began to scuffle and shuffle about boisterously. I grinned at my success and tipped my chin downwards, ready to judge my visitor immediately
.
A monster then clambered quite gracelessly out and onto my wooden floor.

It was more beast-like than human, plump and stubby; a mass of long, knotted mauve fur that shot out in every direction, with two long twiggy arms and legs, each severely crooked and gnarled at the end with several appendages that slightly resembled fingers or toes. It had a small round nose, a thin-set mouth rimmed with sickly green lips, and gigantic, bulbous eyes that seemed to absorb its’ surroundings. I took a sharp intake of breath and gagged; the creature smelled intensely of concentrated mothballs; a scent I’d always resented.
Despite all this, I felt no fear.
The Monster was crying.
Mammoth acid green tears streamed down its shaggy body and began to pool at its feet.
The sight would have, in itself, been quite comical if it wasn’t so radically absurd. The Monster looked up at me.
“I’m…so… so.sc-sc-scared!” The Monster stuttered in an ironically deep, guttural voice.
It sounded like two rusty metal drainpipes being screwed together reluctantly. The Monster quaked and quivered idiotically.
I snickered at the incredulous sight, my young brain too incompetent to formulate a means of comfort for the snivelling buffoon.
The Monster froze, ingesting my reaction.
So did I; for the first time, an air of uncertainty had begun wafting about my shoulders.
A throaty rasp of a laugh suddenly escaped from the hefty lungs of the beast, and shortly after, we had both collapsed, onto the wooded tiles of my bedroom floor, wheezing and clutching our bellies from the uncontrollable fit of giggles that had abruptly overcame us.
“I’m Haydie,” I puffed in-between inhales. “I’m seven and a quarter years old, but I’m short for my age.”
The Monster rolled its’ massive iridescent eyes over to me, looking rather solemn again.
“You were so, so angry,” It rumbled, feebly, Its’ voice almost inaudible. “Why?”
I explained to the Monster, my fists clenched into tight balls in bitter vehemence, of how I had left my prestigious saffron speckled ball in the garden, near the fence, and when I had returned to retrieve it, it had vanished. Its’ reflective, glassy eyes bulged when I told it sullenly of how I suspected my neighbor, Jonah Smith, had snatched my ball somehow from his side of the wooden fence, and how I, now, had sworn to detest him.
“How can you loath Jonah if you can’t know for certain that he took it?” Boomed the Monster, innocently, Its eyes sweeping over me in benign curiosity.
I perceived Its’ comment only as a challenge.
“Jonah Smith is stupid,” I sneered, most eloquently. “And an idiot. He’s always been an idiot. Nobody has ever liked Jonah Smith.” I cocked my head towards It knowingly. I was certainly correct.
The Monster nodded in sheer enlightenment; Its mouth agape.
It wholly agreed with my declaration.
After that moment, He always did.

In the weeks subsequent to my impressive discovery of my Monster, the fiery reminiscence of my lost yellow ball was reduced to a mere thread of smoke in my mind, for my initial year of school had finally commenced.
I never spoke to a single one of my numerous comrades of my Monster, but we were the best of pals.
Nearly every day, at the conclusion of my classes, I would scurry home, and up to my room where He was loyally waiting, and unload to him the misfortunes and adventures of my day.
My Monster never doubted my stories.
We often scorned and guffawed brashly at Jonah for hours. He was so very stupid, and we found it ridiculously entertaining. My monster always chuckled at my stories.
My Monster was my very best friend.

One blazing hot September afternoon, I arrived with a particular haste at my house, a wide, gaped tooth grin plastered across my smooth, damp cheeks. Barely able to contain my bubbling enthusiasm, I threw open both French doors, and didn’t care to remove my brown, soiled Velcro runners before darting across my refurnished foyer. I tore past the window, thick russet curtains still drawn close, obscuring all but a single beam of sunlight, and raced up the steep wooden stairs, stumbling just once on the last step (my auburn hair had grown to an exact length where it had succeeded in shrouding my vision), until I had reached my bedroom, the fourth door on the right.
He was already crouched awkwardly on the wooden floor when I entered, vibrating with utter anticipation. I shut the door.
“Jonah was very foolish today, Monster,” I cried, cackling manically. I bit my lip to restrain my urge to explode. “He was so stupid, but I was clever, Monster, I was so smart.”
He mimicked my sly, crooked smirk on His own bearded face, and beckoned for me to continue.
“Jonah was studying, in the library all by himself, after school,” I managed, leering broadly. “Only idiots do work after school, Monster.”
He bobbed supportively.
“So I hid behind the tallest bookshelf; I was so sneaky Monster, and when he stood up with all of his books, I stuck my leg out, like this,” I extended my leg out dramatically. “And he clear fell right over it!”
My eyes were starting to tear up.
“But Monster, that’s not it. His glasses, his big, round, dumb glasses shot off his face, and I,” I raised my leg and stamped it, hard, into the floor. “I crushed them into a billion pieces!”
I lost it. I threw my head back and hooted obnoxiously, waiting for the high of my Monsters’ mutual laughter to begin.
But strangely, for the first time, it didn’t.
Eyebrows drawn together, and lips pursed in disapproval, I whipped my head around to my Monster, who was now perched silently on the wooden block in the corner of my room, appearing to be thoroughly perturbed. A taut silence masked the room, only pierced by the ticking of my Superman wristwatch.
“WHAT?” I shrieked finally, annoyed that my deliverance had not gone as I’d perceived it would. “WHAT IS IT?”
He spoke in a low undertone, as if to himself, “It`s just, that was nasty, Haydie. Jonah is stupid, but you’re nasty.”
My jade green eyes narrowed and I looked down at Him, wounded at His betrayal, in complete disgust.
As I gawked at my Monster, I became enthralled, suddenly, by His appearance.
How He had changed!
He was longer now, taller than I could stand even on my biggest toe, and thinner too. Much of his mauve hair had lost its’ brilliant pigment, and had also become less course, or simply, had fallen out completely, stripping everywhere except for his groin, chin, crown, legs, arms and upper chest, completely bare, exposing regions of tender, cream flesh. He looked almost like a primate, I reflected inwardly, a monkey of sorts. I dismissed this contemplation immediately, and moved closer to my Monster, so that our faces were barely inches apart. I felt His steamy breath on my lips, and inhaled the foul, dense aroma of mothballs that wafted from His body.
“Monster, I am allowed to be nasty to Jonah. He is stupid, and nobody cares about Jonah. Nobody likes Jonah,” I explained heatedly. “And, he stole my ball.” I raised one eyebrow pointedly.
The Monster’s giant kaleidoscope eyes shone radiantly, soaking up my explanation.
“I see.” He grumbled, not appearing to be entirely persuaded. His fingers, now quite long and spindly, clicked and clacked in steady intervals on the hard floor.
I glanced to my feet, my tan runners still on.
“I’m taking my runners off,” I muttered half-heartedly, my previously boundless energy diminished completely, “I must have forgotten to before...”
I trailed off as I sauntered backwards, and swung open the door behind me.
“Well, that was stupid!” scoffed the monster curtly. He was still stooped down, opposite of my bed. He simpered up at me smugly.
I turned around.
I did not talk to Monster much after that.

Soon, the short, crisp months of Autumn had expired and her corpse was replaced with a frigid, bitter Winter. Thick white blankets suffocated the horizon, and a stinging chill remained tangible in the thin air.
I had turned nine, lost three teeth, and gained five of them.
It was bordering on being glacially cold in the majority of my house, but to this I held no regard; as long as I abstained from ascending up the stairs to enter my room, unless it was a necessity.
I didn’t fancy seeing Monster.
Only at the peak of night did I dare to creep into my bed, feeling secure and masked under the impenetrable cloak of darkness. During the moons’ reign, it was too dark to speak of anything, for which I was incalculably grateful.

It was dark.
I stifled a stiff yawn, glanced at my Superman wristwatch, and decided that it was the precise time to slide off my terry cloth slippers. I took immense care as I lined them up neatly in a row, against the two large French doors. Once I was satisfied, I scuttled in an imperceptibly soundless manner across the neat foyer, and past the large glass paned window; drapes, for once, pushed aside, yet not even starlight dared to flood through the glass and escape from the clutches of night. I ascended stealthily up the creaking wooden stairs.
I did not falter, not even once.
I clambered up the last of the steps and slithered silently towards my room, the fourth door on the right.
I uttered a sharp squeak.
Light spilled out from under my wooden door, like the smoke of a fire.
My Superman wristwatch had stopped ticking.
I swallowed the tennis ball that seemed to be lodged in my throat and urged myself rigidly forward. I began to sweat anxiously as I turned the brass handle in a single, fluid motion and pushed the door agape.

Monster sat complacently on top of my bed, half of his thin lips pulled up into a make-shift smirk.

He was not My Monster any longer, I realized with a start. Not in the slightest regard. He was entirely nude, his only remaining pale mauve hair set in thin wisps on top of his head and hanging over his short forehead. Pearly smooth skin covered his body instead. His nose was more sloped, his cheekbones more angled, his chin more defined, his torso elongated, and his limbs, elegant and shapely. His eyes, though, where the most prominent of all the alterations his appearance had gone through. Though still bulging and colossal in size, they had acquired the lacklustre pale grey color of an ivy vine slowly decaying. They were glazed over, as well, a mirror of sorts; a mere ghost of their predecessor.
Monster did not look like himself, not anymore. In fact, Monster hardly looked like a monster at all, I reflected gravely.
“I have something, Haydie,” rasped Monster, ominously. “I found it, and now it’s mine.”
He then produced a large saffron yellow ball, speckled with lustrous flecks, from behind him and began to pass it back and forth between his hands, grinning sinisterly, as if taunting me.
Sheer fury immediately swelled up in my chest. I began to see crimson. I clenched my fists into tight balls.
“You freak! You beast! You fiend! You Monster!” I spat venomously. “That’s my ball! MY BALL! Jonah didn’t take it! YOU! You had it all this time, didn’t you, you dimwitted brute? GIVE IT BACK!” I was shrieking, now, my blood thudding loudly in my ears.
Monster leered menacingly, and held my dear, precious ball up high, above his head, as if to pitch it clear across the room. I leapt up, hoping to retrieve it in flight.
Monster extended his long, gangly leg, almost lazily.
He tripped me.
I landed on the solid wooded floor; face first, with a sickening TWACK!
Blearily, I pulled my hand to my aching temple, only to bring it back stained with a layer of thick crimson blood. Eyes blown wide in disbelief, I groaned in pain, and lifted my head enough to glower wrathfully at a beaming Monster.
“You can’t do that,” I croaked feebly. “You can’t hurt me"…”
Monster cut me short.
“Oh, yes I can. I’m allowed to,” He peeled his thin lips open wide to reveal a row of gleaming white teeth. “I’m allowed to because, Haydie, you’re nasty. You’re nasty, and cruel, and mean, and stupid.” He indifferently tossed my ball at the tall wall-mirror across the room. It shattered, spraying a wave of hundreds of shards towards me. Before I could cover my face, the sensation of falling into a pit of razor sharp needles crashed into me and enveloped my body. I bit my lip to keep from shrieking; the pain was deafening. “You’re an IDIOT, Haydie.”
Monster bore his grey, mirror eyes into mine, and I was petrified. He smiled intimidatingly and started to chortle quietly to himself. A sudden glimmer in the corner of my vision caught my attention, and I darted my eyes to my left to see a small shard of glass, balancing precariously on its side, so that Monsters' face was fully visible. I began to tremble. If I didn't know any better, I would say that Monster looked an awful lot like me. Frankly, he looked exactly like me; like I was staring into the mirror myself. I gazed up at Monster, still hovering contentedly on my bed, through my hollow, terrified emerald eyes, and remembered something of, seemingly no significance. I swallowed, my entire body wretched by tremors of fright. I cleared my throat.
“Monster,” I called, in a minute, faint voice. It was hardly audible, but Monster turned his head slightly, curious.
“You were so, so scared, when I first found you, that very first day. Why were you so frightened? Who were you afraid of?”
Monster cocked his head to the side, as if considering the inquiry, but stayed sitting.
Finally, he grinned plainly, malice oozing out from in-between the spaces in his teeth when he spoke.
“I was afraid of the monster on top of my bed,” he drawled, coldly.
Monster examined his delicate, slender fingers gingerly.
He slowly swept his ginormous, empty reflective eyes over me, and set them on my face.
My entire body froze. Monster snorted.
“I was so scared,” He boomed, rising up from my bed, “But not anymore.”

Author's Note

what do you think of the grammar and general theme/storyline? Is there anything you would change? Anything that is awkward?

Reviews

[Beastie]

This story was lovely, very enjoyable :) However, I would work on word choice. It's not bad, but could be a lot better at certain times. Some words could be made simpler, some more descriptive. Sometimes less is more, when it comes to writing. Also, when writing in the first person, it's more about describing what they're doing, not describing themselves unless that's literally the action they're meant to do. For example, your character kept describing her own eyes. I found this a bit odd, and a bit distracting, considering it's a bit odd to describe yourself. Maybe It's just me, but I don't think it works very well in the first person. Other than that, I liked your story, well done!

[JC]

I thought it was totally awesome and interesting and creative. profound and thought provoking.

[TelamVitae]

I love this story. It proves that sometimes you only believe and understand how nasty you're being after someone starts acting the same way to you. My only criticism is that (in the third paragraph, I think it was), you said it was his "flush face", when it should be flushed, and you use loath (which is an adjective), instead of loathe, the verb. Thank you for writing this. It is beautiful.

[wordman]

I think you should turn this into a novel,it would make a great one

[ANTO]

This is brilliant Aly. The reversal of the theme of monsters under the bed is inspired. It ended all too soon for me and I really dont do/review/write stories (and I will be in trouble for letting you to the front of the line, in front of even my RRs from story-writers, but this was too engrossing). I wish it would go on though. It kind of ended lacklustre, I feel. Had Haydie learned or what? Did monster replace him?

Despite my coolness at the ending this was a joy throughout and really got my image machine firing on all cylinders and using the turbo injection in places too. Well told Aly, very well told.