Tag: monster

Habitual

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It stands before the door
It knows the rules, only fair
If she fails to observe it
It can begin to come upstairs

She stands atop the landing
Looking down at the front door
Her sight pushes it back into the frame
Like it was never there at all

It reaches over the bed
It knows these rules of hers
It can’t grab hands or hair or head
But anything else outside the covers

She moves in her sleep
Her foot again tucked away
It moves back under the bed
Diverted for another day

It roils within the steam
It knows the rules: they don’t soften
It gets to open the shower door
If she doesn’t look out often

Rinsing shampoo from her hair
She takes a stinging look outside
The bathroom remains empty
It has had already rushed to hide

It is nothing in the light
It knows the rules, of course
A silly habit borne of fear
In daylight it has no source

At night it lives a full life
Ready to punish and scare
But in the light of day
It was never really there

Eerily, eerily, eerily, eerily

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The ever-growing song I sing to my son, to amuse myself:

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.

Row, row, row your boat
Right across the lake
If you see the Loch Ness monster
don’t forget to quake

Row, row, row your boat
Beside the highway
If you see Fresno Nightcrawlers
don’t forget to bray

Row, row, row your boat
gently down the river
If you see Bigfoot tracks
don’t forget to shiver

Row, row, row your boat
right across the sea
if you hear a siren sing
don’t forget to flee

Row, row, row your boat
under the moonlight
If you see the Mothman flutter
it’s time to say goodnight

Getaway

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He had been running longer than he’d ever thought possible, long past when his body would have given up on a normal day. The fear kept him moving.

For the first time since he’d seen his friend’s dead body at the camp-site, he stopped. He could no longer hear the creature pursuing him. Even with the sound of his pulse and gasping breath roaring, he had been able to hear the creature following. The sounds of its snarls, of the claws rending through the leaves, the same claws that had-

He pushed the image of his friend’s body away and swallowed. He needed to hide while he had distance, and retching would give him away.

Ahead was a tall tree, where roots stood above eroded dirt. He could hide there, wait as long as possible, then seek help.

He took a quiet step forward, praying that he had truly lost the creature.

One his wrist, his smart watch beeped and lit up, celebrating his 10,000th step.

Claws pressed eagerly into the underbrush behind him as the chase began again.

Imposter

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It was thrilling, sitting in the crowded restaurant, waiting for my date.

Her photos caught my attention immediately: her soft, wavy hair resting atop heavily tattooed shoulders. Twinkling blue eyes and a small smile. I immediately matched with her, wondering what would happen.

Those weren’t my date’s photos. I had met Amanda weeks ago. The blonde and went on 3 dates before I ended things.

But now I waited for ” Samantha”, keen to find out what the scam was.

I had picked a local restaurant I regularly visited. If the point was to waste my time and stand me up I’d come out ahead.

As I waited, I mulled on my few dates with Amanda. She had told me the meanings of the vine and rose tattoos around her shoulders. She tossed her hair behind her should so many times I wanted to tell her to tie it back. She had bored me.

But I remembered her fondly, in the end. We had what fun we could together, and I always treasure those memories.

I kept an eye on the door. My bet was that a blonde would come through them. She would be a little older, fatter or less attractive than my Amanda. Claim the photos were old, or in bad lighting. I planned to play along, just have some fun and make some new memories.

She looked exactly like the photos.

Tossing her hair back as she looked around, I was so surprised that my date was able to approach and sit down before I could react.

“Hello again” she said in Amanda’s voice. Huskier, deeper than I remembered.

I went to stand, but she grabbed my arm tightly. Too tight. Amanda never had that kind of strength.

My arm was pulled across the table, drawing all of my body closer to her. To anyone else, it would look like a quiet conversation between lovers.

I saw her tattoos, intricate and expansive. I saw her unblemished skin, without scars or marks where I knew there should be. Where wounds should be. In those places I instead saw the tattoos not quite aligning: lines separated, flowers cut in bisected and not quite made whole. As though the skin healed perfectly, but was pulled over a different shape.

As her smile widened, I saw the corners of her mouth bleed, like the skin was pulled too tight.

As her nails drew blood, I realised I was wrong. That this person didn’t look exactly like the photos. Those sparkling blue eyes, which I last saw glassy and unblinking, which I closed myself, were a different colour.

Exhausted

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Our son had never been good at sleeping alone.

Night after night we found him in our doorway, begging to be allowed to sleep in our bed. My husband became increasingly frustrated as his sleep was disturbed. He swore he couldn’t sleep with that many people in one bed. He tried locking the door, but couldn’t ignore the crying in the hallway for long.

I decided to take things into my own hands. After reading my son his usual bedtime stories, I looked into his wide-awake eyes and decided to tell him about something new.

“There’s someone else in this house that you’re old enough to meet now. He’s hard to describe. You can only see him in the corner of your eye if you try really hard. That’s why you wake up with sleep in your eyes in the morning: it’s because he was here and your eyes tried to hide him. But if he catches you out of bed after lights off, it doesn’t matter if you close your eyes and hide. He’ll skit-skit-skitter across the ceiling and snatch you. He’ll drag you under the carpet or into the crack in the wall. And he’ll keep you in his castle where you get tired but never ever sleep, so that you can’t break the rules again”

My son looked terrified, his eyes wide and teary. More importantly, I was certain that he wouldn’t come to our room for a while. My husband stood in the door, smiling and nodding.

We had one week of peaceful sleep. Our son looked tired in the morning, but I didn’t care. For the first time in years, we could sleep the night through.

Perhaps that’s why the sound of my husband shuffling out of bed was enough to wake me. As I tried to fall back asleep, I assumed he was going to the bathroom but realised that his footsteps stopped too early to reach that far.

My husband’s scream was interrupted. First, I heard something skittering on the ceiling. Then, I heard the carpet tear up off the floor. Finally, I listened for hours to the sounds of wet tearing and snapping.

Once it was dawn and I was brave enough, I found blood dripping from a crack in the wall.

My son never has to sleep alone any more.

Little Brother

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My little brother has the biggest bedroom
Which I do not think is fair
He takes up the entire basement
and Mum says I’m not to go alone downstairs

I sneak down some nights
After my parents go to bed
He cries until I visit him
And stroke his soft forehead

Other nights he waits quietly
His joy barely restrained
He rushes to hug me when I visit
But I tell him not to pull at his chains

He is not in the family photos
Hung upon the walls
and when I ask my parents why
they say visitors would not understand at all

For a little brother, he’s very large
Taller than mum and dad
But he’s gentle and he’s happy
Unless something makes him mad

Mum is trying to show him
How to brush his teeth
But he has far too many
For any brush to reach

Dad still tries to teach him
How to read and speak
But it’s hard to form words
With hard lips, like a beak

I tell my brother I have a surprise
As I turn the key, the chains unlocked
I hold what I think is his hand
Tonight, for the first time, we will go for a walk

The Birdhouse

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There is something living in the birdhouse. I am very certain it is not a bird.

I did see a bird land there once, in the dappled sunlight. I watched it poke its head hesitantly through the hole. I saw it suddenly pulled inside. I saw the coins thrown out and onto the ground. The lack of birdsong in the Summer months made sense to me after that.

I kept the coins as recompense for losing the birdsong. My parents did not care much for wildlife. The birdhouse had been there when we moved in and they only did the bare minimum to take care of the garden, not bothering to inspect it. My older brother said the birds annoyed him. Everything annoyed him, actually. Especially me. That was his excuse to wear noise-cancelling headphones all the time and never talk to me.

I took food to the birdhouse. I tried birdseed, at first. It did not drop any money, but the next morning there were coins and feathers covered in blood on the grass. It wanted meat.

I took it bits of dinner and lunchmeat picked from sandwiches. I was careful to use tongs to put the food inside. Whatever was inside had a vice-like grip. It would grab at the tongs, tearing the morsels from them and only relinquishing the metal after gnawing them to test for further food. The teeth must have been sharp, to leave gouges in the metal.

My brother started getting suspicious. He asked why a brat with no job had so much money. He took my money box and said he would tell my parents about it if I complained.

I told him I found a stash of money in the old birdhouse out back. I told him it was right at the back and that he would have to reach all the way inside.

At the Bottom of the Well

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There is something living in the bottom of the well
If you drop in just the right gift, it will offer a spell
Teeth, coins, oddities and various bric-a-brac
Once a gift is dropped it is well-paid back

A girl dropped in her doll, a gift from mother to daughter
Her childhood favourite now sunken underwater
She asked for beauty, something for which she had prayed
Each morning she awakes, shining hair in a perfect braid

One lad dropped the blanket his grandma had knitted
Long outgrown but still beloved, his tears admitted
He asked for his muscles to swell without effort
He often wakes sore, like his limbs were subject to violent sport

Most people wish for fortune and small blessings
Careful to offer enough and to be polite in addressing
But some call for darker acts to be committed
But with the right payment, this is also permitted

Enemies disappear quietly into the dark
Nail scratches on floorboards their only remaining mark
But those who ask for this and offer less than their best
Will find themselves facing their own request

There is something living in the bottom of the well
And if not paid its fees, it will take you there as well
But its greatest gift is that it lets everyone believe
That it lives only in the well, and does not leave

Midnight Feeding

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She knew it was a risk to let the cat sleep in the baby’s room. Her mother had warned her about cats stealing the breath of babies, but the cat’s presence was the only thing that seemed to soothe her newborn.

Melanie had tried everything – singing, extra feeds, co-sleeping. All she had earned were a sore throat, bleeding nipples and sleepless nights filled with nightmares of her rolling onto the baby.

After three weeks of nonstop bawling, she had opened the door and let the pacing ginger cat into the room. He had jumped into the crib immediately and the baby had quietened.

Melanie took a shower, carefully washing her breasts. She had switched to formula feeding a week ago, after the baby had bitten her too many times to endure. She still had marks from the teeth.

The next morning, Melanie found that the baby’s window was opened and there was a trail of feathers on the ground. With a grimace, she realised that the cat must have caught a bird and carried it, bleeding and dying, into the nursery. There was no sign of the bird’s body. The trail lead to the crib, where a purring ginger cat nestled against a peaceful baby, blood upon both of their mouths. The bird was nowhere to be seen, apart from some errant feathers and viscera around the mattress.

As she tidied up the mess, Melanie scratched behind the cat’s ears. She heard the front door close and knew her husband had returned from his nightly wanderings, wondering what sort of bloody laundry he would leave for her this time.

Well, she thought as she listened to the cat’s purr, at least someone is helping out around here.