The Monster Beneath My Bed

I wanted him to stop shouting, I wanted to so badly. Of course she wouldn't shout back or anything, she really was a push over.

But I couldn't take much more of this!

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I think you're acting this way just to be this way! What the hell is wrong with you?"

I shivered, curling up into a small ball, bringing my knees to my chest. I felt the tears dripping down my face like they had been moments before, because he scared me more than any nightmare, any monster, any horror movie.

My body felt too tiny. My pants seemed longer on my legs than before, my shirt baggier, my hair longer, like my entire body had shrunk. I felt like a small child again.

I don't know what's wrong of me, I said in my mind. I don't know why I feel this way. I don't know how to get it to stop. I don't know why you hate me so much.

I couldn't stop the sobs escaping my lips now, leaving before I had any chance to get them I stop along with his shouting, his swearing, his anger, his breathing.

Okay, what the actual hell was wrong with me? I didn't want him dead, he was my father!

No. No, he wasn't.

This man had nearly killed someone, gone to jail for it, met my seventeen year old mother and hooked up with her at a party despite being well in his twenties? And then she got pregnant with my older sister, he went back to jail, missing her birth and then acted like her birthday never happened.

He honestly acted like none of us existed until it benefitted him or we screwed up on something. In the meantime, he'd drink, smoke his disgusting cigarettes and make the living room smell of tobacco. He'd smoke weed in his bathroom, go out for long periods of time metal detecting with his stupid metal detectors using only one of the six he bought. And then he'd keep all that money, never use it, while taking money from mom to spend on whatever the hell he wanted. And she'd never stop him.

What kind of an example were they setting for their children.

He had such a short temper, it was frightening, he was frightening. And I didn't want him to get to me, but when he was angry, I got scared, terrified for my life like he was going to hit me or something. I'd almost rather him hit me, just so I can make up my mind about whether what he's doing is right, if he's a good parent or if he's abusive.

I should have been doing something worth my time instead of sobbing into my pillow, wanting to stop the world for a minute so I could get my head in straight.

I loathed every minute I spent in this household. One day, I'd be eighteen and then I'd be able to move out, and I'd never visit.

But that'd be a long time, I was barely thirteen.

The sky outside was dark and muggy, I found myself sweating a lot. I was going to be really dehydrated in the morning after crying for hours in this heat.

Why couldn't I stop crying?

I swear I heard something, saw something too. But I chalked it up to there being something wrong with me.

"Ahaha, you're crazy, go to your room!"

I muffled my sobs into my pillow until I fell asleep, my father still shouting. I really was crazy. There really was something wrong with me.

"There isn't anything wrong with you, my child," a voice said.

I sat up, tears still running down my face that I rushed to wipe away.

Like they walked straight out of a nightmare, here they were; the monster under my bed, the one I knew would haunt my youth until I came of age.

Their sockets held no eyeballs and they grinned like a Cheshire Cat, clothed in the shadows and darkness from beneath my bed, eight feet tall at least. Despite the ivory tone of their face, their hands were crimson and their white greasy hair clung to their forehead as he pulled themself out from the dark space to stand at the foot of my bed. A terrifying sight to see so late, as I shivered beneath the covers my vision blurry from the tears I held in my eyes.

"G-Go away!" I shrieked as they got closer.

They could place tears in my eyes quickly with how struck by fear I could be. They were all of my fears strung together to create a monster.

I was still laying down on the bed while they crept closer, staring at me perplexed. They sat down by my feet, staring at me. But they didn't have eyes, they shouldn't have been able to see me.

"Where are you...?" They murmured, hand hovering in the air now as if trying to find me, grab me, drag me underneath the bed with him into the depths of hell.

Except wouldn't hell be better than here?

I held my breath as they found my face, placing the scarlet hand on the side of my face.

"St-Stop!"

They smiled softly before looking at the door. "Your parents...they finally stopped at least. Did they frighten you, dear?"

I froze, I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. But any minute they'd demand an answer from me, they wouldn't settle for "I don't know" or anything the like.

Not even my father would settle for that, and no matter how unpredictable he was, they could hurt me easily.

They sensed my fear. "Do not worry, you do not need to answer me."

Their hand moved to my hair, the fingers combing it out of my face and gently untangling a couple knots in the short tresses. "My poor darling."

"Who...what...leave me alone, please."

The sockets were still empty, but it was like they managed to stare into my soul anyway, reading me like a book. "Such a horrid man. But I won't let him hurt you at this time. You do not need to cry."

"It's not like I can cry on command; I can't stop this." Finally, a sentence from me.

Hadn't he said that? That my tears were fake? That I wasn't actually upset?

I was crying again.

They wiped the tears from my eyes. "No. No yo can't. My darling, don't let him get to you."
Their hand was back in my hair and they were slightly, eerily kind. "Those adults...teaching their children that the monsters beneath the bed are there to hurt, to frighten, to haunt."

I shivered.

"Adults like those ones, the ones that dwell here with you...those are the real monsters. I'm here to protect you from them."

"I-I..."

"Do not fear me, child. I know I can appear scary but...I have no wish to harm you. The exact opposite. I don't want to hear you cry anymore, but I know it can't be helped."

They made me lay back down, kissing me in the forehead like a parent. "I'm here. They will hurt you if I can help it. Now, go to sleep, my darling depressed insomniac."

"But...I-I..." this has to be a weird dream, right?

"This is real," they whispered. "You have someone watching over you—me. Someone who cares...someone who loves you. Now, please, sleep. I'm here. You aren't alone. You are loved."

I felt my eyelids get heavier, and their hands were lifted. I wanted them back, I wanted human contact from someone who wasn't quite human.

"You're valid, there's nothing wrong with you, you aren't crazy. You are here. You are alive. Go to sleep, dear."

And my eyes closed. And the eyeless, white haired monster watched over me.

Not frightening me, not haunting me, not hurting me. Guarding me. Protecting me.

Taking in the role others refused to.