Monster Under The Bed

Twits

 Well, after my boss heard what happened, he laughed. he laughed. 

 'Well, son, I don't think that's how monsters work.' He said, after he had done mocking me. I mean, I go to the worst child in this world and you just laugh? He should've been cheering instead. I mean, what did he think I was? A toy for Dawn to play with? 

 'Well, looks like you need practice.' My boss looked at me, a wide smile spreading across his face. Well, of course I needed practice. I worked as a receptionist,  for Bloody Mary's sake. Yet you send me off to scare the bravest child in this entire universe. Ridiculous. 

 'So, you need to work an extra hour everyday. Visit a child or two - a child who is actually capable of feeling frightened.' He laughed some more. 'Unless, of course, they ask you to leave - then come back like an idiot.' Now, this was too much for me. You send me off to the hardest mission possible, then you laugh at me and force me to work an extra hour and visit another child? As if I had enough strength to face another little twit. 

  'Sir, that's not what I want. I -' I couldn't complete my sentence. He shoved me inside another tube. As I went down, I saw my boss laughing again. I had so much anger boiling inside me, I could even scare adults with it. I couldn't help smiling. At least this kid was normal. Unlike Dawn Wortowitz. 

                                                             *           *          *

Those twits.

 I hate children. This one was a boy.

 I was under his bed. I could feel him moving, and the bed creaked as he sat up. 

 'Daddy, could you check for monsters under my bed?' The owner of this voice was about six years old, and had long ginger hair. I don't know why, but this kid reminded me of Chucky, another monster. That monster had a loose screw. Chucky was only about three and he killed people. 

Well, threatens to kill people, but that doesn't make him any more normal.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, All of us monsters have  X-ray vision. We can see through objects. Not clothes, though. We can only use this vision if we want to. Monster clothes are made up of a material we can't see through. 

 If you, a human, saw a movie where the victim hides under a bed and the monster doesn't find out, it's fake. I mean, if you are creating a horror movie at least do some actual research. 

That won't actually work because us monsters try to keep clear of any humans. I can guarantee you, the 'scientists' will rip our body apart, cage us up and will put us in some museum. We all know what happened to Annabelle.

Since we are immortal, we will be alive through it all. 

 Monsters like Chucky and Boogey Man are famous, as is Bloody Mary. Every once in a while an obsessed monster fan spreads false information about them on the internet. Yes, even the monsters use it.

 then some director makes a movie about it. 

 The Bloody Mary gets annoyed now; while I write this, at least 10,000 people are saying her name in front of a mirror. She used to visit them, to scare them so they won't do it again, but it made it worse. I have no idea how the human brains work. I think the humans don't either - that's why some of them study it. 

 Anyways, Chucky (or whatever that boy's called) asked his father to check under the bed. No big deal, us monsters can become invisible or teleport, that's why you can't catch us. Thank God for that.

 'There's nothing, honey.' The father replied, staring straight at me. I was relieved he couldn't see me, he would have to move into another house. As if that works. Us monsters know every human and where they are. We even know where you, the reader, live. Don't panic, we won't hurt you. Really, we have so much more to do than that.  

 'Read me a story.' The boy commanded, wearing a frown on his small face. 

 'Munchkin, I can't. I have work tomorrow. It's twelve, you have been watching T.V for quite a while, hun.' 

 'READ ME A BOOK.' The boy stomped his feet. 'NOW.' This little monster (sorry, to all of us monsters) was a lot like my boss. Do it now. 

 A moment of silence  for the poor father. I know exactly how he feels. He wants to stomp on that little insect and squish him but alas, he can't. Parenthood is a horrible thing. 

 'Alright, sweetie.' The father signed and read the boy the book he wanted him to read. As the boy drifted off to sleep, so did I. 

I woke up to someone poking me with a stick.

God, I really want to squish this little insect.