“C’mon Timmy, its bedtime.”Mom said.

    “Aww Mom, the movie is almost over.” He groaned.

    “Its already way past your bedtime and you’ve got school tomorrow.” Mom said standing in front of the television, blocking his view.

    The Wolfman was sneaking up behind Bud Abbot. Timmy leaned from one side to the other, vying for the best view around his Mom’s stockinged legs. Click! The screen faded to black but for the white dot at the centre.

    “Aww Mom.” 

    “Bed.” She said sternly pointing her finger in the direction of the hall.

    Timmy rolled off the sofa plodding in the general direction of the corridor, his head hung low. 

    “Did you wash up before getting ready for bed?”

    “Yeah!” He said sullenly.

    “Did you wash behind your ears?”

    “Yeah!”

    “Brush your teeth?”

    Timmy’s face snapped up at his Mom, his smile beaming. Minus one lower tooth that the tooth fairy took two weeks ago.

    Getting to the open door of the bedroom, Timmy froze in terror. As his Mom slipped her hand along the wall searching for the light switch, he saw the ragged cloth of the creature scurrying back under the bed. His legs became rigid, fear pulsing through his veins. His Mom pushed him gently into the room, out of her way as she passed over to the window to shut it. A breeze had whipped up blowing the blue curtains inward.

    Timmy’s legs began to tremble. He blinked his eyes a couple of times for a reality check. How did she not see it? How could she not see it.

    “M,-mom.” He stuttered.

    “What is it Timmy?” She sighed, fixing the curtains just the way she liked them. The folds just had to be right, you never know who could come in or could be looking.

    “There’s something under the bed Mom.” Said Timmy whispering, his legs still frozen near the door, his bare feet and toes  rooted to the deep pile carpet.

    Mom gave him a knowing glare, her eyes narrowing on him. She’d play along. Walking to the bedside locker she turned on the spider-man lamp.

    “There is!” He yelped.

    “Okay, I’ll take a look.” She resigned.

    Hitching up her skirt slightly, she knelt down and looked under the bed.

    “What the.......oh my God!.........TIMMY!” She roared. 

    She snapped upright holding a pair of forgotten socks. Confusion swept over Timmy’s face.

    “ But Mom?”

    “I’ll tell you what’s under the bed. The sock monster from hell. Now the Mommy monster is going to put you to bed.” She steamed, her face flushed red with restrained anger. She held the socks out at arms reach as if they were a dead rat.

    Timmy took two long strides, launching himself onto the bed and under the covers before curling himself into as small a ball as possible. His mother prodded him twice through the covers. His head slowly appeared from under onto a pillow. She was a bit more composed, though her expression was still stern.

    “Goodnight.” She kissed him on the forehead before snuggling him down. Reaching the door, her hand touched the light switch.

    “No Mom.” He squealed.

    “What’s wrong, You have spider-man to protect you.” She said.

    “Mom, Can you check under the bed again, I think you missed something.”

    “There better not be.” She said through gritted teeth.

    Cautiously, she knelt where she stood and looked again.

    “I give up. What am I looking for?” She said.

    Timmy dived to the side of the bed, leaning over. His wide eyes searched the little dark corners behind the legs of the bed. Nothing. Straightening up, he yawned.

    “Sorry Mom!” He said yawning.

    “Goodnight honey.” She said, flicking off the light and pulling the door, almost shut.

    Timmy rolled over, snuggled down and fell asleep.

    He didn’t hear his Mom enter the room twenty minutes later to turn off the spider-man lamp and close the door. But the little monster under his bed did.

    The hideous little creature cackled with delight. The boy must be no more than seven years old. So young, so tender, so imaginative. It is so much better with the ones who can see you, hear you and feel you. The ones that know your there, aware of your presence; but no matter how much they tell the grown ups, they don’t believe until its too late and even then they don’t believe. Oh this was going to be fun. It was so easy. An open window. A room full of toys. No light on. So many places to hide; it was all too easy. There was lots of time, so why not have a little fun? Why not? The creature could barely contain it’s excitement. It restrained a scream of hysterical laughter that threatened to erupt from its grotesque little mouth. That would have to wait, until after it drained the child of its life.

    

    Timmy wrestled in his sleep. Something was not right. His little mind sensing danger lurking in the bedroom was sending him dreams to disturb and wake him. Nasty little claws shredding his tender skin, reaching for his eyes. Tearing at his young back as he tried to run away. He awoke with a jolt, fear filling him; paralyzing him. Every muscle in his body was stiff and rigid. He dared only to move his eyes. Slowly they looked around the shadows on the ceiling before moving in the direction of the window. He would not, could not move his head, his heartbeat thumping in his eardrums. The trees in the yard were rattling their bare autumn branches off the fence. The sound of leaves dancing off the fence made an eerie tune.

    Becoming aware of his breathing, Timmy realized he could not keep up the short breaths much longer. Slowly he took a deep breath, holding it before letting it out slowly, his chest sagging under the weight of the covers. Feeling a little better, he wriggled his fingers then his toes. Relaxing a little, he decided to turn on his side to go back to sleep. He snuggled his nose into the pillow, the scent of conditioner reassuring him. Closing his eyes he returned to sleep.

    He was almost asleep when he heard it; scratching from under the bed. His eyes popped open, fear filling him again he clenched his hands under the pillow. His breathing quickened. He listened - it was not a dream.

    At first he thought it was his own breathing he could hear, but something was wrong Something did not sound right. He was taking quick short breaths again, nearly pushing himself into another asthma attack. He could hear another breath from behind the headboard. It was labored, almost guttural. Reacting quickly, he pulled out his torch from under the pillow shining the beam at the head board, a pair of yellow eyes flashed for a micro second. Timmy reached for the lamp on his bedside locker, its forty watt bulb throwing surreal shadows of aeroplanes and spaceships that hung around the room.

    Jumping from the bed, Timmy ran to the light switch near the door. Its bright comfort reassured him a little. Feeling braver now, he got down on the floor and shone his torch under the bed. Nothing. Standing on the bed, he shone it down behind the headboard; coast clear. Feeling a little bit silly, he turned off the main light and went back to bed, leaving the bedside lamp on. Just in case. His alarm clock said it was two thirty in the morning. Slowly his eyes blinked with tiredness. He was asleep again.

 

    “Timmy.” Whispered the voice, close to his ear. Not just once but maybe it was the third time that made him snap awake. His head jerked from side to side looking for the source of the voice. The room was dark again. Who turned off the light? Was it Mom or the owner of the voice?

    The creature had almost blown it. It had pushed the boy too far too quickly. Usually they would run to their parents bedroom if frightened. But it was lucky that this boy had not. This boy was plucky to even search for him under the bed or behind the headboard. But they never think of looking under the mattress where he could squeeze it. Humans always think that monsters are big. Some are, but the worst ones are the little ones like him.

    He had to be careful not to lose his prey. In the tradition of the hunt, the boy had to be killed while awake. The look of terror on the boys face as the creatures claws tore the sound out of the its throat with one slash across the vocal chords. Two claws into the eyes and a taloned thumb under the jaw to keep its mouth closed while he dragged his struggling victim to a quiet place for consumption. The prospect of fresh blood and young meat made him salivate. It was time.

    “Timmy.” It whispered from under the bed. 

    “Timmy.” 

    The boy groaned.

    “Timmy.”

    It felt the boy wake with a jolt. He had to be careful. This was the moment. Burying its claws into the underside of the bed it raised itself off the floor, crawling to the edge of the bed. The boy was scuffling under the covers, no doubt looking for the torch that the creature had skillfully taken from under the pillow. Cackling now, the creature’s arms reached up the side of the bed, its head and shoulders bending around the turn, with claws digging into the sheets like ice picks. The creature’s head came over the top, its eyes looking for its prey. The boy would be too scared to scream right now. Timing was crucial at this point. He had to slash the throat just as the boy was sucking in air to scream. That was the moment, when all that useless air would hiss out in gurgles and bubbles of blood.

    The boy’s arm was raised, pointing towards him. The other arm held back his hand to his lips. Maybe the boy was so panic stricken it clasped its own mouth, unable to scream. But not so. The fingers opened. Something flashed. The marble embedded into the evil creatures forehead, the force throwing it back onto the floor. Pain rose like a geyser of fire in its brain. Now the creature sucked in air, releasing a high pitched scream well above the ability of human hearing. Every dog in the neighborhood lifted their heads from their slumber, their heckles rising, fangs bared to the sound.

    Timmy leaped from the bed, still holding the catapult. A second ball bearing went straight into the creatures stomach, in a spray of green blood. Grabbing a fist full of readily sharpened pencils from his desk, Timmy knelt over the writhing little monster. One quick thrust to the heart with an HB pencil put the little creature of its misery. 

    Timmy studied it carefully, cautiously prodding it with pencils to make sure it was dead. Satisfied that it would cause him no harm he fetched a shoes box and duct tape from his wardrobe. Taping the little creatures arms down by its side he kept wrapping it all the way down to its feet, leaving only the head exposed. Timmy opened its mouth with a pencil and began counting and examininng its teeth.

    “Nasty.” He whispered.

    Putting the creature in the box, he dropped in a few moth balls to hide the foul smell it would give off. At the bottom of the wardrobe lay a chest. He placed the shoes box alongside six others there, all reeking of moth balls and sealed in duct tape.

    “Thats seven to Eddie Brady’s nine. I’ll catch up with him yet.”Timmy said pleased with himself. He went to the window, slipped the latch and opened it a few inches before diving back into bed.

 

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