A Stormy Night: Stories to Read by Firelight

Covered

    Cleo lay back on her neighbor’s small couch. Her feet extended over the arm on one end, and the bottom of her neck rest against the other.

    It had been a longer night than she’d expected, due to the fact that eight year old Timothy Nelson wouldn’t fall asleep.

    Cleo, on the other hand, couldn’t help but doze off every few seconds.

    She turned her head left and focused on the large grandfather clock that sat next to a small, cushioned chair. It had just struck eleven o’clock and Cleo’s eyelids were drooping lower over her pupils by the second. She took a deep breath.

Thud!

    Her eyes shot open.

    The sound had come from Timothy’s room.

    A wave of irritation brought on by sleep deprivation forced her from her semi-comfortable position and she dropped her feet into a pair of slippers that lay on the wood floor in front of the couch.

    She patted down the hallway that lead to Timothy’s room, and the boards creaked underfoot. She heard another loud thud followed by the bouncing of bed springs, and when she opened the door, Cleo saw Timothy curled up in his bed, shivering.

    A bookshelf stood on the wall opposite which Cleo stood, and several of Timothy’s toys had fallen onto the ground from a higher shelf.

    The closet door was slightly ajar, and as she flicked on the light, Timothy rolled over and stared directly at Cleo.

    “Timothy, how many times have I told you to go to sleep? It’s almost midnight,” she said, her hands placed firmly on her hips.

    “And you can’t be climbing the bookshelf to try and grab your toys either!” Cleo  moved to pick up several of the toys when Timothy sat up out of bed,

    “No, don’t move them!” he exclaimed shrilly, “they’ll let me know when the monster is in here!”

    Cleo placed one of the toys on the shelf and put her head in her hands,

    “Timothy,” she said, moving over to him and grabbing the blankets at the edge of his bed, “there is no such thing as monsters.” Cleo pulled the blankets up to Timothy’s chin.

    “But there is!” Timothy said, pointing to the ajar closet door, “they come out of there!”

    Cleo shook her head and walked over to the small space at the foot of the bed. She swung the door open and revealed clothes on hangers and several boxes of toys and old shoes.

    “See?” she asked, gesturing to the otherwise empty space, “there’s nothing in here.”

    “Then he must be under the bed!” Timothy muttered in a wavering voice.

    Cleo rolled her eyes and dropped to her knees to look under the bed. A small red ball and an old sock was all she could see.

    “Nothing under here either,” Cleo said, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “now will you please go to sleep?”

    “But Cleo,” Timothy wailed, “the monsters are gonna get-”

    “For the last time Timothy!” Cleo exclaimed, feeling the frustration in her gut, “there’s no such thing as monsters!” Cleo marched to the bed and pulled the blankets over Timothy’s body, “and even if there were, you can just hide under the blankets.”

    Cleo wore a satisfied grin as she stood back.

    “Wha--what?” Timothy muttered.

    “Well, everyone knows that, silly,” Cleo said with a roll of her eyes, “monsters can’t get you if you’re under the covers.”

    “Really?” Timothy had since pulled the blankets up to his chin and stayed transfixed on Cleo as he lay back down.

    “Oh, yes,” Cleo said, closing the closet door completely, “they’re anti--monster blankets.”

    “But what about their claws and sharp teeth?”

    “They’d break on those things!” Cleo exclaimed, gripping onto the blankets with one hand and straining her face as though lifting a heavier object, “see? They’re heavier than steel!”

    Timothy giggled and lay his head back onto the pillow.

    “Now, will you please try and fall asleep?” Cleo asked as she stood near the door, one hand on the knob and the other on the light switch.

    Timothy nodded and yawned.

    Cleo smiled, flicked the light off and closed the door behind her. As she walked back to the living room, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for the story she had told.

    “Now hopefully that little squirt will finally go to bed,” she muttered as she returned to her almost comfortable position on the sofa.

    Cleo lay her head back, and waited patiently for a sound to come from Timothy’s room, but there was nothing.

    She smiled and closed her eyes before she too drifted off into a calm slumber.

    Cleo awoke suddenly. Her heart was racing and a bead of sweat poured over her forehead.

    She shot off of the couch and put her feet into her slippers when suddenly, she heard something in Timothy's room.

    Cleo glanced at the clock, and as if on cue, it struck the midnight hour. She sat on the edge of the couch for a moment and rubbed her tired eyes before she stood and headed down the hall toward Timothy’s room.

    “Timothy,” she called out as she walked down the hall, “I thought you agreed to go to sleep.” She placed a hand on the knob and pushed the door open. The closet door was slightly open again, but there was no sign of Timothy in his bed.

    Cleo flicked on the light.

    While the bed was empty of Timothy’s small body, an outline of it in crimson made Cleo gasp. Blood was splattered onto the wall and ceiling above the bed, and on the hardwood floor there was a set of large, animal-like footprints leading toward the closet. The blankets had been torn off the mattress and lay in a tattered pile halfway between the closet and the bed.

    In a panic, Cleo threw the doors open, hoping to find Timothy, but the footprints stopped abruptly at the edge of the door, and the closet was as she left it an hour before.

    Cleo fell to her knees and put her face in her hands.

She and Timothy learned the hard way that blankets don’t actually protect you from monsters.