Short Stories

Monsters aren’t Real are they?

The Monster at the Window

They say that you can’t dream while you are awake, but you can, I am living proof of it. I am sitting straight up in bed; I pinched myself hard on the arm just to make sure. I see the beast on my windowsill; don’t know if it’s a she or a he, but the beast is about to come into my room. Sadly I am locked in, and the only escape route is through the window. Mom said she could not trust me anymore because of the times I keep sneaking out of the house. I try to explain myself to her that I don’t sneak out of the house on purpose; that I have no recollection of even going outside. She does not believe me and so I am now trapped in my own room.

I wish I were asleep because I can always get away from this beast – I tell myself that its just a dream, monsters are not real.   When I wake up, I am drenched in sweat, my breathing is so labored that I may be hyperventilating and tears are running down my face and I am never in my room or in my bed. I wake up outside, or in the garage or down the street sometimes. I even venture into the woods across from the house. Mom finds me and accuses me of sneaking out, she decided that for my own safety she will lock me in my room; she doesn’t know that tonight I will be eaten by the beast; I just know it.

His eyes glow in the dark, his talons are long and they seem to hang over the windowsill. Is it a ‘he’? I guess I can just refer to the beast as ‘it’ The full moon casts a shadowy light, it looks like a gargoyle, the ones that hang on to the ends of old churches, with long ears and scales. I can see puffs of smoke emitting from its nostrils, I fear that it will open its mouth and fire will come out of it. Is it planning to roast me? I am terrified, so terrified that I run quickly into my closet and crunch up in the dark corner.

I know my closet, I pull my clothes on top of me thinking maybe it won’t find me or maybe I can poke him in the eye with a wire hanger. I close my eyes and grasp the hanger with both my hands I plan to jab it as soon as it opens the door. Hey, can it open the door? I ask myself. I hear the beast’s nails tap across the room. Tick…Tick, Tick…Tick, Tick  Tick.  I can smell its foul odor; its breath comes from his nose like he is panting, his talons clicking on the wood floor. I imagine it is smiling at the thought of a nice tender little girl. 

In the darkness of the closet I cannot see if the door knob moves, I’m sure it can do whatever it wants. I’m still screaming, maybe my mom will hear me but I doubt it she is a really deep sleeper. So I grab the coat hanger and wait for it. As soon as it opens the door the foul odor of burned cinders attacks my senses, but in the dark I hold the end of the coat hanger and just make hard jabs into nothing. Then all of the sudden the creature lets out a loud howl and scurries away from the closet door. I stand up and slowly walk towards the opening of the door as quietly as I can and just stand there. Running to my bedroom door I switch on the light-nothing but drops of blood marking the way towards my window. I am so glad that I hurt that scaly ugly beast-maybe now he won’t be coming back to my house. I vow that I will be sneaking the biggest knife in the kitchen and sleep with it under my pillow-that beast will be dead next time he decides to come after me.

○2018 Lorelei McArthur


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