Monster Under The Bed

“Daddy!”

Timmy’s cry reverberated throughout the house, jolting Dad and Mom awake from there oh-too-short slumber. Mom reached behind her, and after finding Dad’s face, began to pat it repeatedly.

“You awake?” she mumbled.

“Nope,” Dad replied as he rolled out of bed.

He let out a big yawn as he stretched his arms. Eyes sunken, Dad made his way into the hallway and down to Timmy’s room.

Knocking on the door as he turned the handle, Dad spoke into the darkness, “Timmy, what’s up bud?”

A timid reply tinged with youthful fear came from the darkness. “There’s a monster under my bed again, Daddy.”

“Ah, I see. Well, you know what to do. On the count of three. One.” He started counting down, crouching low to the floor.

“Two.” Timmy continued the count as his small hand reached for the lamp by his bedside.

“Three!”

Timmy switched on the light as Dad leaped at the bottom of the bed. Thrusting a hand underneath the bed, Dad vigorously moved his arm left and right. He knew he wouldn’t find anything but carpet—and what apparently was the remains of Cheetos—but he knew Timmy wouldn’t go back to sleep until he checked.

“No monster under here now, Timmy,” Dad said as he picked himself up off the floor.

It was a strain to do all the crouching and leaping, but it was tradition at this point to go through the whole bit. Groaning, he slowly stood back up. Looking down at those wide eyes peeping out over the top of the covers, how could he let his little boy down? Dads were supermen to their kids after all.

Dad couldn’t help but smile. “It’s safe to go back to sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Timmy smiled and hugged his arms as Dad leaned in to give him a reassuring kiss on the top of the head.

“You’re welcome, bud,” Dad replied, hugging him back. “Now, try and get some sleep.”

As Dad exited the room, he stopped at the door. He noticed an open bag of Cheetos on the nightstand. In a low tone, he whispered, “Don’t let your mom find those Cheetos under the bed.”

Timmy peaked over the edge of the bed. Still shaken, he pulled back and hid under his sheets again where he was safe. He would get the Cheetos in the morning.

Morning came, and Timmy cautiously poked his head out from safety. As usual, there were no sounds coming from under the bed once light shone into the room. Timmy pulled off the covers and swung his legs over the side. He gingerly touched his big left toe to the floor. When no monster claw shot out to grab him, he convinced himself that it was still safe.

Hearing his mom call out that breakfast was ready, Timmy quickly grabbed the Cheetos bag and glanced under the bed. He froze. There were no delicious, cheese-covered snacks to be seen.

Was Dad messing with me? Timmy thought, as he backed out of his room. He never turned his back on his bed if he could help it.

“Better hurry, or the food will get cold!” Mom shouted up the stairs.

Timmy rushed to the bathroom and threw the empty bag into the trash can. He washed his hands and sped down the staircase. Inviting smells of hot, scrambled eggs and sizzling bacon greeted him as he entered the kitchen. A plate with sizable portions of both was waiting for him as he jumped into his chair. All thoughts of the monster under his bed were gone—for now.

In between mouthfuls, Timmy asked, “Is Dad already at work?”

“He is,” Mom replied as she finished up her toast. “But, he will be back in time for dinner. And he’s bringing back something special for dessert. Your favorite!”

“Chocolate cake?!”

“Brussels sprouts,” Mom said, smiling mischievously.

“Eww!!” Timmy contorted his face in utter disgust.

Mom laughed. “Of course, chocolate cake, silly!”

“Yay!”

The instant change in Timmy’s demeanor from dismay to pure happiness caused Mom to smile even wider. Chuckling at her little bit of fun, she took her dishes to the sink. Timmy was lost in thought as he happily chomped away at his breakfast. Thoughts of eating chocolate cake filled his head with glee.

He still thought about the monster from the night before, but it didn’t bother him as much at the moment. The promise of cake made everything better. Shoveling the last bit of eggs into his mouth, Timmy’s eyes grew large. He smiled from ear to ear. He had an idea.

Later on that day, Timmy heard a car pull into the driveway. As Dad was heading to the door, he nearly dropped the cake box he was holding as Timmy barreled out the door to give him a hug—and to get eyes on the cake. It was a delicious, German chocolate cake, Timmy’s favorite.

Both Dad and Mom were amazed at the speed in which their son scarfed down his food. He even ate all his vegetables, because he knew he wouldn’t get dessert if he didn’t finish his greens. Usually, they almost had to force feed him healthy foods. The power of cake, chocolate cake at that, had that powerful an influence on young Timmy.

Mopping up the last of the spaghetti sauce with a piece of garlic bread, Timmy practically inhaled it. He grabbed his plate and silverware and ran them over to the sink. Returning to the table, he saw that his parents still had plenty of food on their plates.

Perfect, thought Timmy. All according to my master plan.

“Hey Mom, Dad,” he said, holding his hands behind his back and pivoting back and forth on his feet. “Could I take my cake up to my room?”

“Darling,” Mom replied. “You know I don’t like it when you take food upstairs.”

“Pleeeease?”

“I don’t…”

“That way you and Daddy could have some special alone time too.”

Dad perked up at this genius idea of his son’s. In unison, they both looked pleadingly at Mom. Timmy smiled on the inside. Dad was on his side now. Together they could convince Mom.

“I think that is a marvelous idea. Don’t you, hun?” said Dad.

Mom looked between her two doe-eyed boys. Sighing, Mom consented, “Yes, you can take a piece of cake up to your room.”

“Yay! Thanks, Mom!” Timmy gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and ran to the cake box.

As he began cutting out his slice, a wide smile crossed over his face. His happiness slightly faltered when he heard Mom’s warning.

“But I better not find a mess in there later. Do you understand, young man?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Timmy said as he removed his cake and placed it on a plate.

Timmy was very careful, treating the plate like fine china. He made it up the stairs and through his bedroom door with no slips or falls. Leaving the doorway open so the hall light could shine into his room, he made his way to place the plate down on his bedside table. He then proceeded to turn on the table’s lamp, shut the blinds, and close the door.

With all his preparations made, he climbed up on the bed. He grabbed the plate and placed it on the floor next to the bed. Mustering his courage, Timmy said, “Okay, monster. I know you’re in there. I don’t want to be afraid of you. I brought you some cake; it’s my favorite.”

He reached over and clicked off the lamp. Some light poked its way through the cracks in the blinds and from underneath the door to the hall, but the room was as dark as Timmy could make it. Pulling the sheets over the top of his head, he waited, staring at the slice of chocolate cake.

After a couple minutes, he heard it. The low grumbling. The sounds of something moving. Timmy considered hiding, but he had to see this through to the end. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to watch as a purple, fuzzy hand slowly reached out from the darkness and pulled the plate underneath the bed.

Suddenly, a sound of broken crockery escaped the dark domain of Under the Bed. Timmy heard a lot of crunching. More crunching. Then, there was nothing. The silence was more than the boy could bear.

“Can we be friends now?”

Timmy’s question hung in the air. A hearty belch was his only reply as the fuzzy hand reappeared, pushing the chocolate cake back to its original spot on the floor. As the hand retreated under the bed, it gave a thumb’s up.

“Cool,” Timmy said as he switched the light back on. His triumphant smile faded as he saw the trail of chocolate smeared into the carpet. Mom’s warning ringing in his ears, Timmy uttered what he thought would be his final words.

“Oh no.”