My Dearest Friend Under the Bed

A short story that may disturb some.

Part 1: Sleep!

Its almost 9pm, the time that Mrs.M and Mr.M check on Hope. On the exact hour, Mrs. slid a tiny bowl through the doggy door, along with a toothbrush and paste. Hope is instructed to brush, rinse, and spit all in the same bowl. She then has to push her waste bucket through the opening so that Mrs. M can wash it. Inbetween washes, Hope wears a diaper so that she doesn't urinate or deficate on the floor. The last time she did that was 6 months ago, which resulted in 9 lashings with a hose. Hope showers on Sunday's, and by then her brown hair is limp and piled with dander flakes. I cannot smell Hope, so I can only tell that she reeks because of the ferocious insults that Mr. M screams at her:

"You filthy pig."
"You disgust me."
"You smell like a damn animal."

Hope is not allowed to cry. The penalty is 15 lashings. If she continues she is punched. If she tries to run, she is beaten. If she gets sick, she is beaten. If she asks her parents about me, she is beaten.
Mrs. M will confirm that I am not real. That Hope is a stupid girl, and that she made me up in her head.

"For the last time! Binky does NOT exist! I can't believe I gave birth to such a moron."

Once Hope is clean,she is taken back to her room with a glass of water. Hope is never denied water, though food is scarce. She eats twice a day, and is forced to stay inside her room. In her entire life, Hope has only seen the outside of her house on Sunday. The paddlocks are what keep her away from the rest of the world.

Hope is supposed to be asleep, but once she hears her parents walk upstairs, she peaks under the bed.

"Binky", she whispers. "Are you there?"
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Part 2: Fwiends

Hope calls me her Fwiend, because she hasn't pronounced it properly yet. It's okay though because I understand. At her age, I too wasn't able to say many words correctly. I feel like we have so much in common. Hope calls me her "Monster Bubby" because her parents once told her that I was the monster under her bed. Now, they deny me all together. They think she will grow out of me, but I will never grow out of her.

"Monster Bubby, wes can play howse again. I live in, uh, uh, a manchion. That's where you have lots and LOTS of rooms!" She says as she flaps her hands and spits on a few syllables.

"Hope, we can live where ever you want. We can live in a big house or in the wilderness. We can even live in the night sky circle." I reply.

"Binky, what is that cawlled again? The Moon?"

"Yes, Hope, that's the moon." I confirm with a grin.

She giggles, but not to loud.

"I want to play!" She says.

So we play until Hope is too exhausted to carry on. When she finally falls asleep, I watch her. I need to protect her. Her dreams are the only escape she had from this malevolent reality. Just the other day, Mrs M, saw that she was digging into her arms when grabbed her lunch. Mrs. M came back with a bottle of alcohol and a knife. She cut and picked open the wounds then poured the alcohol on them. Hope cried in secret until dinner.

I love Hope so much. She deserves so much more than suffering. When I'm with her, I see a bit of a once-so-innocent version of myself. Before she came, I was filled with rage and hatred. I, too, was stuck in the room. But Hope turned an eternity into a moment. She erased all of my dispair.

During her waking hours, these walls are her prison. Yet, she never fails to brighten my day. Daily doodles, house play, and pretend parties are our salvation. If this wicked place is the darkness, then her smile is the light.

I must save her.
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Part 3: Birthday's Eve

Tomorrow, Hope turns 7. I can almost remember when I was that age. Of course, that is the moment that I turned into this monster. Since I was 7, I have been the monster under this bed. At first I wanted to haunt the couple that lived here, though Im not sure why.

Before Hope was born, Mrs. And Mr. M were renovating the house. They had planted a new garden and restored the bedroom I was in into a guest room. The once yellow-stained wallpaper and claw-marked wood floors, transformed into plush carpet and pink walls. Mrs.M was very large, and pregnant. Mr. M hired a nanny, only to fire her later, to wait on Mrs. M.

Then Hope was born! It was the highlight of my life. I could not believe it. They once again had to change the room into a nursery. It wasn't until Hope was 2 1/2 years old , when Mr.M installed the first lock. She broke it, and for two days didn't eat as a result. Mr. M would shake her if she cried, but it never worked. It was then that he resorted to different form of punishment.

Hope only sees Mr. M on Sunday's and the night before her birthday. He says:

"I will remind the brat that she is ours. Her birth marked our dispair. She is a child and she must be punished for the day she was born."

Then Mrs. M spanks Hope with a wooden spoon, until she bleeds. She is then sent to bed without dinner and doesn't recieve any gifts. Last year I drew her a picture- or I at least described it to her. She drew it for us and it was my gift to her for being such a beautiful person. In the picture, we were holding hands.

"See," she says, "Me and Binky. My best Fwiend."

"You're the best, kiddo." Id say as I kiss her little head. Then I'd tuck her in as she layed on her belly, too sore to sleep on her back.

I don't want to see her get spanked tonight. Last year, she bled through her blanket. Before dinner she pleaded with me:

"Binky, I don't want to go!" And as her father dragged me away, "Nooo, don't let them take me Binky. I don't want the dark place!"

I tried to follow her but I couldn't leave the room. Her father slammed the door, examining the room. "Who the hell are you talking to?" He asked.

I waited for her to come back, but I knew the spankings could take a long time. I waited and waited, in the dark.
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Part 4: The Search

I decided to wait under the bed, but I became lost in my own thoughts and all time became irrelevant. I thought that I must have missed the door open, because the morning light shone through the curtains. I looked in her bed but she was not there. So I waited and waited, and by noon the room was still silent. Mrs. M was planting flowers out back in her new garden. Her hands were covered in dark soil as she labored in a frenzy.

After she cleaned up, she came into the room. I watched as she grabbed all of Hope's things and throw them in to a trash bag. By the time Mr. M came home, the only item left was the bed. Under the stars, Mrs. M and Mr. M enjoyed wine and cheese next to a roaring bonfire.

I sat on the bed and started to cry. I'm so worried about my best friend. Where did she go? Was she rescued? That must have been it. Someone finally must have seen her and her frail body and took her to safety. I revel in the thought that she is warm and well fed. That she is somewhere giggling, staring up at her new parents with soft green eyes.

I start to see the leaves turn orange and yellow outside. Mr. M has started to renovate the room. For the first time in a long time, I hear a voice from inside the house. It's a woman.

"Yes, we are expecting, in about 5 months. Oh, yes, we are very excited. We hope it's a girl. We've always wanted a little girl." I can hear Mrs.M tell the woman.

"I would like the weekends off, if that is okay. I need time with my own family, but I have a phone for emergencies. Where shall I be staying?" The woman asks.

She replies, "There's a guest room upstairs to the left. We just had new carpet installed. There's a twin bed next to the window and a small dresser".

I do not want this woman in Hope's room. This was her place. I will save this for her if she ever comes back. Sometimes I start thinking that she has run away or that I made her up in my head. No, no, no! She had to be real. All those years we laughed together. I can still remember her first steps, and her first words. Hope is all I ever needed. I look around from time to time but I still haven't found her. I feel like I'm going insane. There is no Hope, and Im not entirely sure if there ever was.

The flowers have stopped growing.

Author's Note

Grammar and spelling may not be perfect. Open to writing suggestions.

Reviews

[L.C.H.K.]

I found this to be actually very good. I was a little confused as to why I found it in the horror genre, after I got midway through. But now I can see why it's there. Altogether it actually made me both sad and angry, i really enjoyed it.

[Kimberlee]

Thank you for the review! Glad you enjoyed it!