When The Monster Comes | Completed

Chapter 5

It was years ago when Timmy first saw The Monster. He was younger then, only four years old, barely old enough to form memories of his own. As in usually the case, The Monster was nothing yet like what it would become. And, as always, the child had no idea what that would turn out to be.

It used to hide in his closet. Every once in a while, deep into the night, Timmy would hear its fingers claw against the wood until they found their way to where the door was cracked open. Then they would curl their way around, revealing the black of their stems and the long, long nails. Beyond them, he could see two eyes, red as blood, leer from beyond the door.

"Mom!" Timmy would cry. "Dad!"

His dad would be the one to come running in. He would turn on the lights and scan the room. When the lights came on, the fingers would vanish. So Timmy's dad would never see The Monster. Instead, he would simply walk to the foot of Timmy's bed and smile.

"Hey kid," he would say to his son. "Bad dreams again?"

Timmy would always feel a lot better with his dad in the room. Even though The Monster was scary, he knew it wasn't strong enough to hurt his dad. So he wasn't all that afraid when his dad was around to protect him. But he also knew that his dad didn't make The Monster go away. He just made him go hide for a little while.

"The Monster," Timmy would say. "I really thought I saw it. I really thought, Daddy."

His dad would just nod and move toward the closet. "In here, right?" he would say, to which Timmy would nod. So he'd go over and open the door, checking for anything that could scare his son. "No monster in here," he would declare, and close the door to the closet tight.

The closet secure, Timmy's dad would walk to the side of the bed and tuck his son in nicely. He'd end with a kiss on the forehead, ask him if he wanted a light left on, and then finally go back to his own room. It would make Timmy feel better, of course. But it didn't stop him from keeping an eye on the closet. And it didn't stop The Monster from coming back.

Timmy saw it after his father died, too, but it wasn't the same anymore. Some nights it wasn't in the closet. Some nights it was under the bed, bumping and bending and threatening to reach up and grab him at any moment. But it wasn't just where it was; it had gotten bigger. It was hungrier. It seemed only a matter of time before it would get Timmy. And there was no way Timmy would be able to face it alone.

Luckily, he wouldn't have to.

After more than a few late-night bed scares, Timmy strolled into his room and found some now-familiar company in his wake. At the foot of his bed, drinking from a red bowl he had never seen before, was a young puppy. He wore a bowtie around his neck instead of a typical collar, and he was, even to Timmy's untrained eyes, too well-groomed to be a stray. After but a moment of Timmy standing there, flabbergasted, the dog noticed him. To make matters more bizarre, the dog stood up, walked over to Timmy, and introduced himself. That story is how Timmy met Mr. Easybreeze.

Their friendship grew fast, with the two of them playing together day in and day out. Timmy would get home from kindergarten, throw his backpack down, and announce to his mother "I'm going to play with Mr. Easybreeze now!" before sprinting to his room where his newfound companion waited. They played with action figures, built castles with blocks, and peered out the window and daydreamed together. For a while, it was bliss. But it wouldn't stay that way forever.

Before long, The Monster returned. It rocked beneath Timmy's bed, clawed at his door, and even began to tap its claws at the window next to Timmy's toy chest. Timmy would press himself against his bed and cower, and no matter how long it went on, no matter how close the danger came, he refused to call out to his mother. He had come to believe that it was The Monster that was responsible for his father's death, that it had taken matters into its own hands and removed what it fled from for so long. Timmy would accept his own suffering if it meant keeping his mother safe from harm.

One day, though, Mr. Easybreeze had enough. He told Timmy that he had to find a way to stop The Monster, to cast it away from their home. For a while, it seemed as though that was impossible; no matter what Timmy tried, no matter what solution he engineered, the clawing, the tapping, and the scraping would come back every night, so close he could hear the rumbling belly of The Monster. But he kept trying, kept working with Mr. Easybreeze to find a way to defeat The Monster.

One day, despite all odds, he did.

It took a lot of playtime off of Timmy's hands, but he was able to find some things that helped him stand up to The Monster. He found a plastic bucket to wear on his head, which would keep The Monster from eating him. He found a blanket cape to make him fast enough to stay out of reach of its long, hungry fingers. Finally, the weapon, the flashlight that Mr. Easybreeze told him would be able to ward the awful being away.

From then on, whenever it came back, Timmy would don his helmet and his cape, which he kept under his pillows, and he would shine the flashlight at The Monster. Every time, the being would flee, incapable of surviving in the light. Eventually, it stopped coming back, and Timmy was left in peace.

Even after that, however, he always kept that bucket helmet, that blanket cape, and that flashlight close at hand. For he knew that although it was gone for now, the torture was not truly over. The Monster would grow, The Monster would change, and it would be back. It would never, ever give up.