by Susan May
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Caleb held out his arms, rotating them back and forth to prove he was unscarred and unharmed. “See? No maul marks. And…” Caleb leaned in even closer, and Bailey noticed how red his lips were. “…on account of my cousin being taken by one of them two years ago. The last thing you want is to be taken by a monster, because they never let you go. That’s what my mom and my auntie said.”
Caleb’s mouth drooped. “My auntie and uncle cried a lot in the beginning—even now they never smile. My mom says every Thursday they still lay flowers beneath Ben’s window. She says they’re sending a message to the monster to bring Ben back.”
Bailey shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like this story. It was too close to home—literally.
“Once Mom and I visited at the wrong time, and we caught Uncle Gary and Aunt Mary laying the flowers. Aunt Mary was sobbing into Uncle Gary’s shoulder. They just stood there staring at the spot beneath the window. Crying and staring.”
Those images—Caleb’s aunt and uncle sobbing over flowers; young Ben dragged from his bed—kept Bailey awake for hours that night. How must it feel to be dragged, kicking and screaming, from your bed? If a monster did get hold of you, how might you escape?
If Bailey had any doubt about the truth of Caleb’s story, by the next week it was gone.
Bailey and Caleb rode to Ben Stirling’s house straight after school on a Wednesday afternoon. They stood before what looked like an ordinary house, but in their eyes it had somehow taken on the murky hue of a place tainted by horror. Their bikes lay at their feet, and their school bags had been plopped down and forgotten. Side by side the two boys stood, staring at a small bunch of flowers forlornly propped against the side of the house, below a window that must have opened into Ben’s room. Tucked among the flowers’ stems and the shiny white bouquet wrapping was a photo of a smiling, freckled boy in a gray school uniform.
“It’s terrible,” said Caleb. “I really think it’s their fault. His parents, I mean. They must have known about the monsters, and they didn’t tell him.” A stern edge entered his voice. “They’re not helping any of us by covering it up. They should leave a warning here, instead of the flowers.”
Bailey stared at the flowers, wondering why the Stirlings would keep leaving them when clearly the message wasn’t getting through. “What kind of warning?”
“Well, if they cared about the rest of us, they’d leave a sign saying something like: Ben, taken by a monster. He did not follow the rules.”
Seeing those flowers was all Bailey needed to finally convince him the monsters and the rules were real. There was another thing he knew, too: he didn’t want his parents laying flowers beneath his window any time soon. Or in fact any time ever. So he would follow the rules from now on, and he would follow them well.
He’d had his nightmares. Until now, he’d thought they were just bad dreams, and nothing to do with real life. On those dark nights when he’d wake with images of creatures, claws, and heart-racing chases still clinging to him, his mom would always be there, assuring him with her hand on her heart it was all in his imagination. That monsters didn’t exist. She would sit on the edge of the bed, gently stroking his hair, shushing his sobs until he was calm again.
She must have known the truth. His Dad, too. They’d told him often enough they were instructing him on life and preparing him for his future, but never a word about this.
Despite what he knew now, here he was on a hot summer night, struggling to follow the most basic of the rules.
Always keep your arms and legs under the covers, so the monsters can’t grab them.
The tink-tink-tink whir of the fan reverberated in his head as rivulets of sweat dribbled down his chest and wet patches formed under his arms. Twice his mom had tiptoed into his room to pull down the covers he’d so carefully snuggled to his chin. On each occasion, Bailey had feigned sleep as she carefully folded back the blanket and concertinaed it at the end of his bed.
It was past his bedtime, and he didn’t need his mom explaining the lateness of the hour. He also didn’t need to defend his need for a blanket on such a hot night. He knew she’d give him the same response she’d given every time he’d broached the subject of the monster rules.
“Bailey,” she would say, “there are no such things as monsters. Don’t be a silly-billy.”
She’d only been gone a few minutes before Bailey leaned down and carefully pulled his bedcovers back up. He was midway through the action when he heard the noise.
Somewhere near his desk, way on the other side of the room, there came a knock. Not a knock as if something had fallen, but more like the sound of a leg or an arm bumping into furniture.
Bailey froze and sucked in a breath. Then quickly he threw himself back with his covers again pulled up. He squeezed his eyes shut and held them closed, feeling the muscles struggle and jump as he attempted his very best impression of death.
In his mind, Caleb’s face appeared as a still mask, his eyes closed, as he said: “Look at me. Do I look like I’m sleeping?”
He hadn’t looked asleep. He’d looked dead. Bailey hadn’t known what to say. Then Caleb’s lids had flown open as if a switch had been flicked, and he’d narrowed his eyes at Bailey.
“No, I don’t look asleep. I look dead. Right? That’s the most important thing. The trick is to not scrunch your eyes. If you scrunch, they’ll know your pretending.”
“Why do you want to look dead?”
“Because monsters are dumb. If they think you’re dead, they’ll leave. If they think you’re sleeping, they’ll hang around, waiting, hoping you’ll make a mistake, maybe move an arm or a leg above the covers. Then bam—”
Caleb had clapped his hands loudly in Bailey’s face, causing Bailey to jump. His friend had then laughed, throwing his hand against his chest as he continued to chuckle.
“Remember, just concentrate, and you can give a perfectly good death impersonation.”
Then he’d grabbed Bailey’s wrists, dramatically pulling him in.
“Whatever you do, stay perfectly still. No scratching, sneezing, or calling out. Don’t think calling for your parents will work, either. The monster will have you out of that bed before your parents get within ten steps of your door.”
Bailey held his head stiffly as he strained to listen. Time inched slowly by, filled with the clicks and creaks of the house. How long do I need to play dead? Caleb hadn’t said.
A cloud of doom hung over him. He stretched the muscles in his legs, shuffling his body further under the covers. Surely, the best move would be to get his head totally under and hidden. The less of his body exposed above, the better.
He wished he’d asked Caleb why an uncovered head was safe. Wouldn’t it be worse to be dragged from your bed by your head? His heart began jumping. A leg you could live without; a head you need.
As much as Bailey had already slowed his breathing, he worked at slowing it even more. The more he squeezed his body further down the covers, the safer he began to feel.
Thump.
What was that?
Another bump. This one louder.
Thump-ump-ump.
He gasped and then held his breath. The gasp sounded far too loud. Had he been heard?
Now he had another problem. The thumping sound had moved. Or more accurately, the thing making the sound had moved. It was no longer near the desk—now it was near his wardrobe. Bailey realized with horror it was now much closer to him.
The freestanding wardrobe was next to the end of his bed, but it stood facing the opposite side of the room. It took forever to convince his mother it needed to be moved.
“Bailey, it’s perfectly fine where it is,” she’d said. Bailey wouldn’t be swayed, though. This monster rule was a very, very important one.
He’d first noticed the lock on his friend’s wardrobe on a Saturday afternoon, as the two of them lay on Caleb’s bed playing with their iPods. His first thought: Who would steal your clothes?
When he asked Caleb about it, Caleb put a finger to his lips—to signal he was sharing a secret—and whispered, “Do you want to know another rule?”
Bailey nodded and stopped playing with his iPod.
Satisfied he’d gained Bailey’s full attention, Caleb turned to the wardrobe and fiddled with the lock until it clicked open. The door creaked ajar; the sound it made wouldn’t be entirely out of place in a horror movie.
“Keep your wardrobe doors locked and all other doors closed. The monsters can’t open them by themselves.” Then, to punctuate the message, he slammed the door shut. It made a loud cracking sound, startling Bailey and causing him to drop his iPod. Caleb had mastered the art of giving him a fright.
“If you leave one door open… even just a crack… before you know it…” His voice trailed off, as if saying the words would make them happen.
His chest suddenly tight, Bailey mouthed three terrifying words. “They come in?”
Caleb jabbed a finger at Bailey. “Yes. Yes, they do. If you do forget—but you mustn’t forget—the first sign a monster’s come through will be glowing red spots.”
Bailey imagined itchy, red mosquito bites. “Red spots? On me?”
“No, no,” said Caleb. “The spots are them: their eyes. They glow in the dark. When they blink, it’s like tiny little flashes. It’s the light—they can’t take it. Not the littlest bit. That’s why they come in the night.”
After that, Bailey harassed his mother to move his wardrobe as far from his bed as possible. He knew he should keep it facing him, so during the night he could check it. He didn’t want the last thing he ever saw to be red, blinking eyes emerging from his wardrobe. Better he be taken by surprise than taken by those eyes.
He wiggled his body back up a little, until just his eyes and the top of his head poked out from under the covers. Beneath the covers, it was hot and stuffy like a steamed-up bathroom. The urge to take a huge gulp of sweet, fresh air was becoming unbearable.
He risked opening his eyes, and quickly glanced around the room, relieved to find no blinking eyes awaited him. Gently twisting his head and wiggling his shoulders, he managed to ease his body up a little more. Now he could peek his nose and mouth out from underneath the covers.
The cool breeze from the fan washed across his face, evaporating the sweat on his forehead, and providing relief from the heat. Slowly—so slowly his chest barely rose—he dragged a deep breath of air into his straining lungs. Then he gently eased the used air back into the room before taking another breath. Air had never smelled or tasted so good.
Did he still look dead?
He felt he’d kept his chest movement to a minimum. His head—he thought his head had moved too much. The wriggling. He couldn’t be sure what that looked like from outside the covers. Did he give himself away?
How long do they watch you? A minute? An hour? All night? Oh brother, what if it’s all night? He couldn’t possibly stay like this all night. Of course, the best course of action was to get up and get out of there, to call his mom and dad.
He couldn’t do that, though. There was the non-negotiable monster rule Caleb had sworn was right up there in importance:
Never get up in the middle of the night.
“Never go to the bathroom. Don’t run for your parents’ room. Don’t get up for a drink even if you’re dying of thirst. Don’t even think about it,” he’d said.
Bailey had been incredulous. “Never? Even when the wardrobe doors are locked and you’re sure it’s safe and you’re desperate to go?”
“Never-r-r-r-r!” said Caleb, the ‘r’ in never, trailing into the air until he ran out of breath. Then he slowly shook his head, as if even his trailing ‘r’ hadn’t emphasized his meaning enough.
“Imagine this, Bailey… You go to get out of your bed, you’re groggy, you’re tired, and—what is the second-most-important monster rule?”
Bailey hesitated, wracking his brain. Knowing the rules in order of importance was difficult. They all seemed important—life-and-death important. Which one was second or third or even tenth, he didn’t know; he hadn’t paid attention to that detail.
“Come on,” Caleb urged. “What must you do to get in and out of bed?’
Bailey thought he remembered. Hesitantly he said, “Never stand next to your bed? In case one is—under your bed?”
“And?” Caleb prodded.
“And, um —” Bailey couldn’t think of anything else.
“Bailey, this is important. You’ve got to jump at least three feet from your bed. Or put a chair next to the bed and jump from there. If there’s one under your bed, it can only reach three feet. Just in case they’ve grown their claws out, then the farther you jump the better.”
Caleb grabbed Bailey’s arms and squeezed. A tingling erupted in his legs as he imagined the feeling of claws on his skin.
“Thirdly—and this is the scary part, Bailey.”
As if the other parts weren’t scary enough.
“If the one in the wardrobe doesn’t get you because you’ve been careful not to let your arms or legs hang out, and the one under the bed misses you, you’re still not safe because …”
Because hung in the air between them, and just for a second Bailey wondered if Caleb had made the whole thing up and was secretly laughing at him. No, he seemed deadly serious.
Caleb half-screamed at Bailey. “Because? You’re not safe—because? Because, sometimes, monsters work in pairs. So even if you follow the rules in your bedroom, another one could be waiting in the bathroom, in the bathtub, just sitting there, drooling quietly in the dark.”
Now as he lay in his bed, Bailey wished he hadn’t remembered that rule. The minute he thought of a monster lurking in the bathroom, he immediately needed to go. In fact, he was now bursting.
Shhht. Sherrt.
Bailey heard the scratching sound at the very moment he considered breaking the getting-up rule. Instantly, the urge to go vanished. The noise wasn’t coming from his desk or even from inside his wardrobe. To his horror, the awful noise—which sounded very much like sharp claws scraping on a handle—was actually coming from the outside of the wardrobe. The sound, clear and frighteningly sharp.
Then came a long and loud squeak followed by a click, as if his wardrobe door was being closed. Why would it close the door? To stop the other monsters? That’s why. To keep him to itself. His pale, skinny, ten-year-old body was only enough for one monster. That’s what Caleb had said—they liked large kids, more of a meal. What about the ones who hunted in pairs?
Oh heck, heck, heck, I know nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The only thing Bailey knew for sure was he’d followed the rules. That this shouldn’t be happening. Where was the monster rules expert, Caleb, when Bailey really needed him? Probably sleeping peacefully, safely tucked under his bed covers, closet door firmly locked, and safety chair at his bedside—that’s where. And why? Because Caleb was so good at following rules. And Bailey must not be.
The scratching, scraping noise came again. Now there was another sound above the noise—a husky, crackling, wet sound, as if the thing were breathing through a bag of filthy green bog water.
Now it was on the floor. Yes, definitely on the floor! It was coming closer, slowly closer, to the bed. Bailey wanted to look, to know for certain what was there, but he couldn’t bring himself to face it. Instead, he crushed his eyes shut.
Instantly he knew that was wrong. Don’t squint. Relax.
Panic moved through his body as if an icy liquid were traveling through his veins. It slithered into his arms and his legs, then into his fingers and toes. Now Bailey was very cold, freezer-cold, with fear.
What had he done wrong? What?
The thought screamed in his mind as he frantically raced through his memory of the evening. He had followed the rules, hadn’t he? What about when he’d gone down to the basement? Was that when he’d made the mistake?
He’d been sent downstairs, where they kept the spare fri
dge, to retrieve the ketchup. Yes, he had made a small mistake, but it was only for a moment he’d turned his back on the dark as he was returning up the stairs.
Usually he walked up backward, his heel tentatively searching for the next step. Tonight, halfway from the top, something overcame him. He’d compulsively turned to face upward, bounding up the steps two at a time, clutching the sauce bottle in one hand while grabbing wildly at the rail with the other. With each step, the overwhelming feeling of a cruel black claw alighting upon his shoulder lessened.
Arriving at the top, he’d whipped his head about to stare back down, half-expecting to see the hideous, sharp-toothed jaws of a green, stinking demon descend upon him. Instead, all he saw were darkness and shadows.
As Bailey turned his head to dash quickly through the door and the safety of the brightly lit hall, he thought he saw a flash of red. There was no way he was turning back to check. He wasn’t that crazy.
Sssst. Sssst.
The horrible slithering sound, combined with the complaining floorboards, sounded more and more like a snake. It really could be a snake—they slithered. The scratching before? Cockroaches—they scuttled. The bump? Rats. Big, hairy rats. Creepy and horrible, yes, but snakes, cockroaches and rats weren’t monsters. They couldn’t eat you or steal you away, or drag you into a deep, black hole.
Bailey wanted to look so bad. He felt his mind willing his head to turn, but he fought the urge. He must follow the rules, because what if it was a monster?
Then he was in trouble. For the rules should have kept him safe would have, instead, done a terrible thing. They would have actually trapped him.
As if he were a pilot doing a pre-flight check, Bailey ran through his pre-bed routine. He examined his movements, counting off the rules on his fingers, moving each digit as he went through his checklist. The main ones, the really important ones, he absolutely knew he’d followed. His undoing must have been one of the less important rules.
Which one, though?
Wear dark pajamas to confuse their poor eyesight. No, he’d ridden his drawer of all brightly colored boxers and cheery patterned pajamas, much to his mother’s surprise.