Monster

After it gets dark, that's the danger-time. It's a special kind of quiet, made up of lots of small sleepy sounds. I tremble.

I hear it in the closet. The noise of something very big moving very quietly. If I listen hard, I hear rumbling breath, and long, thick claws clacking like clothes hangers.

I guess, when you're grown-up, you feel safe, knowing there's nothing that'll hurt you. Probably. Or you do the hurting. You don't believe in monsters, or the Dark. Only in boring things, like laundry soap, and Tax Returns.

Sleep won't come. Wouldn't save me anyway.

Please not tonight.

Footsteps.

Not ordinary, like somebody going to the toilet. They're careful, knowing footsteps. Avoiding the creaky parts of the floor. Each time they stop, there's the sound of somebody listening hard.

There's too many feelings, but the biggest one is Shouldn't.

When I was littler, I hid under the blankets to be safe. They can't get you if you're under the covers. That's the rules.

Then I got a bit bigger, and I found out, real monsters can.

There's something even scarier than the dark, and that's the shine of eyes that Shouldn't. Shouldn't be there, shouldn't look, shouldn't make me, shouldn't do that or that.

He's standing over me, and -

creeeak

His eye-shine dimmed.

It's even bigger than I thought! How did it ever fit in that closet? Hot, smelly breath washes over us. Blobs of drool drip off its teeth. There are too many to fit into that huge mouth, and they're so looooong. It walks on two feet, fur rippling, knuckles dragging. Every paw is ginormous, and has those clicky-clacky talons.

He turns, to see what's there, to prove it's nothing... but he's wrong. He seems to get smaller.

The first bite is in his shoulder. One hairy paw squashes into his face and swallows his scream. There's crunching, squelching, and the drip trickle drip of lots of dark red blood gurgling out.

It eats him up, even his hair, and teeth and socks. A long tongue like a swiffy mop swirls over the last bit: a sticky smear on the floor.

Turning, it lumbers back into the closet. I whisper "thank you" into the dark and quiet, and then I fall asleep.

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Friday 25th October at 9.47

Quick Author's Note

NB. not autobiographical.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 299 daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January.

ONLY SIXTY-SEVEN DAYS TO GO!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and I am extremely grateful for your ongoing support.

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments. Bear with me while I catch up on reads!

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Thank you again!