Short Story Collection

The Monster in the Room

I roll my aching shoulders and reach up to rub my neck, though it does nothing to ease the pain. When I close the front door behind me, I call out to him but I don't receive an answer. Must be in our bedroom.

Work is as busy as ever but I guess I don't really have a choice but to show up day after day. I remember as a child, everyone told me to follow my dreams and choose a job I was passionate about. They forgot to tell me that oftentimes dreams don't pay enough. Or they take much more than they give back.

I drop my bag to the floor, slip off my heels and sigh in relief. I've been waiting to do that from the minute I left the house this morning. I call out his name again when I reach our bedroom doorway but instead of greeting me, I find him sitting at the edge of the bed with his head dipped down and his eyes fixated on his lap. I open my mouth to ask what's wrong when a low snarling sounds from behind the door.

Oh no. Not again.

When I reach round the door to close it, there, looming above the pair of us is a huge, ugly black creature I've seen before. It has no eyes, only a mouth lined with razor sharp teeth that snap and snarl at me. The teeth and the growling has me thinking of a chainsaw, like it could slice through me with one fell swoop and I'd be helpless to fight back.

And yet, I don't do anything but sigh. We've become old acquaintances over time.

Its chest rises and falls heavily, breath rattling, its vast body made of swirling shadows. Tendrils of black smoke swirl around its figure, curling around the light that hangs low in the middle of our room, as it steps between me and him. It always does.

When I think back to the first time I saw it, I remember the fear that pricked at me, while I tried to navigate its desires. What could it want? Then, I found exactly what it wanted. It didn't seem to mind I had found out its secret, in fact it seemed glad I was willing to submit to it every time it showed up.

I resort to my usual methods of appeasing it. A few soft compliments. The mouth closes and the teeth disappear from view. I can almost feel its satisfaction as reassurances tumble from my mouth so robotically I'm not even sure I know exactly what I'm saying. I've said all of this too many times to really feel it. It works anyhow, I suppose it doesn't really care if I mean it or not, it just wants to hear someone else say these things.

I'm so much better than this. I don't have to do this, I can't help thinking. I don't have to please this creature.

The creature yelps and shrinks a little.

I jump back, startled. It's never done that before. Even though it has no eyes, it seems to express the same shock, head turning this way and that to figure out what happened. My heart races a little, as I repeat to myself, I'm better than this.

It shrinks again. I say it louder. It shrinks again. Tendrils of smoke ripple frantically. It lets out a pained groan as it gets smaller and smaller, until it can only be half my height.

That is when the smoke lashes out at my stomach.

I cry out and bend over in pain. The smoke slices through me, though when I panic and look down, I can't see any wound. It's all inside. I look at it wildly, almost betrayed because it has never harmed me before. I barely have time to think when another tendril cuts through my leg. I buckle to my knees with a groan.

When I look up, I see it moving closer to me, taller than me now that I'm crouched on the floor, gathering my breath. I'm too afraid to lash out, even though I know all I have to do is think and it'll shrink. Maybe it'll shrink so far that it'll vanish from our lives all together.

It brings its face close to mine, swirling smoke stabbing at my skin like a thousand hot needles, enough to make me wince in pain but not enough to make me pull my face away. I don't move. Not even when spit trails off the end of its teeth, or it breathes so close I can almost taste its putrid smell.

A battle of wills. I'm determined to win this time. Tears spring to my eyes, as it attacks me from all sides. I find that even though it slices my limbs, the place that hurts the most is deep in my chest. My heart.

I grip onto the rug with shaking hands and sweat drips off my forehead, but I want to hold out. I want to hit it back but now my mind is too clouded to think anything except that I'm exhausted, and it doesn't look fazed at all. In fact, it almost looks victorious already. My muscles ache, my head is heavy, and all I want to do is curl up in bed and forget the day.

And so, even though it nauseates me to do so, I cast my eyes downwards and I start the groveling, the begging for forgiveness, the admission that I was silly for trying. As I speak, the creature grows and grows, a satiated smirk twisting onto its face, but that's not all. With every word, with every treacherous apology, I start to realise I'm growing smaller. I feel sick; white hot shame coursing through me, because I want to stop but I can't. Because I can't go on fighting this creature today. Because I think maybe if I do this and I sleep, I can fight this creature another day.

Except I know tomorrow will be the same, and the next day after that. So I swallow my pride, and I grovel, and it grows. Until it completely fills our bedroom. Until it is satisfied enough to let me curl next to him in bed, surrounded by its shadows.

Until I have reduced myself to something so small, so insignificant, that all three of us can finally fit: me, him, and his ego.