“Monsters Are Real” by Barnabas Deimos

When i was around 5, i would fear laying down to bed. As the lights would shut off, and darkness engulfed my room, all i could think about was that She’s at my bed again tonight…

I lay my head down on my pillows each night and try to close my eyes. BUt i see her there. In my mind’s eye i can see her hovering over my resting form.

I see her dressed in that white gown, her black hair thick and tangled, dropping over her pale face. And she’s just standing there….

I open my eyes and look into my bedroom. My mirror, i can see the window behind me in its reflection, and no one..no one is there.

I close my eyes again, i remember the morning breakfast…

“Papa, my head hurts..i can feel bumps on it…” I complained while i drew with crayons and a napkin

My dad looked at me stoically and asked “how’d that happen?”

“The monster did it. She bashed my head in my sleep…”

My dad shook his head and chuckled. “The monsters you keep drawing son, theyre getting in your dreams.”

I looked down at my drawings, creepy monsters, blood and guts, people dying in the only way a child could render it..

My step mom, Always trying to look beautiful, checked her hair for the day. “Siempre esta diciendo mentiras.” she said in spanish staring at the mirror. Which effectively meant That i was always lying…

I only quietly drew in anger. She knew the monster was real. She just refused to admit it….

I snapped back to me in the bed. Lying quietly praying that she doesn’t show up again…praying like a good little catholic boy.

I place my ears tightly to the pillow and close my eyes. I hear the beat of my heart, but to me it sounds like footsteps. The monster’s footsteps coming closer and closer.

I lift my head, a bit, but i still hear the steps…closer and closer…she’s not in here. She’s not in here. i say to myself out loud. I hear the footsteps stop..

I open my eyes. I look into the mirror. No on outside. No one on the side of my bed. I timidly look underneath…nothing but blackness…

I lay back down…head facing upwards at the ceiling…

Then i see her. Hovering over me. Standing at the head of my bed.

The white gown. the tangled black mess of hair. the pale face.

She raises her hand.

I stare in fear of what’s coming next

She brings it down on my head

Again and again….each blow to my head reverberating the monster before me’s existence.

I’m in tears, curled up beneath my covers when the monster is done. She walks out…her words as she leaves reminding me every night that monsters are real…

“Siempre diciendo mentiras.”

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