Monster in My Closet

by R. L. Naquin

  “And Molly,” I said, bending low to look her in the eye. “Nothing will hurt you here. You and your family are safe and welcome in my home.”

  I strode to where Maurice stood waiting. “You,” I said. “Kitchen. Now.”

  In the kitchen, I went to the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of strawberry lemonade.

  “Zoey, I know how this looks,” Maurice said.

  “Sit.” I admit, my tone was a little sharp.

  “I was going to tell you.”

  “Sit-sit-sit.” He sat, and for one blessed minute was silent. I poured two glasses and brought them to the table. I knew there was more going on than what I was seeing, and I was trying to form the words needed to get him to come clean.

  Questions banged against each other in my head. The clues had been coming at me since I’d woken up to find a closet monster in my kitchen several days earlier. Brownies. Skunk-ape. Hag. Fairies. Helping. She was helping, just like you. All the questions swirled into one single, simple sentence.

  “Maurice, what was my mother doing before she disappeared?”

  It was obvious this was not where he expected me to go. He looked startled and slightly pale, even for him.

  “She helped.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Helped who? And how?”

  “She helped the Hidden, mostly.”

  “The hidden what?” I frowned, not understanding.

  He spread his hands and waved his arms around. “Non-humans. The Hidden. Though I’m pretty sure she helped humans, too. She couldn’t help herself. If someone was in trouble, they came to her, and she never turned them down.”

  “Closet monsters and fairies are called the Hidden?”

  “And brownies. Really, anything humans aren’t supposed to see. Hidden, get it?”

  It was good to know there was a group name for all this nonsense. It was less of a mouthful than “monsters, mythical creatures and urban legends.”

  “What was she doing for you, exactly?”

  “A house fire took my parents and left me an orphan, so she took me in until she could find me a family. She also made sure meals were sent to Aggie the Hag when she was sick.”

  “The fairies?”

  He nodded. “Their clearing was being bulldozed for a new Denny’s, so your mom brought them here and planted a garden for them. They were here for years before they found a patch of forest they liked.”

  Despite my growing suspicions, I was stunned. With the exception of one terrifying night with Maurice, I’d never seen anything unusual while I was growing up. And even that I’d forgotten until he appeared in my kitchen twenty years later.

  “So, all these ‘favors’ you called in to protect me, they were owed to my mother.”

  “Everybody loved her, Zo. We all did.”

  I thought about the crazy grin and thumbs-up I’d been given by my skunk-ape bodyguard. I couldn’t begin to fathom what she might have done for him, but at least it made sense now.

  “I miss her.”

  “Me too.” His shoulders slumped. “She taught me to cook, you know. She could turn anything into a pie or a casserole.”

  “I don’t remember much about her.” It made me sad that someone who’d only recently come into my life had so many more memories of my mother than I did. I wasn’t jealous, exactly. More like I’d discovered a gaping hole where I hadn’t realized there was one.

  He reached his hand out and squeezed my hand. “You know, after she left, I still came back sometimes to visit. I had to honor your mom’s wishes to leave you be, but there were a few times I almost came out of the closet to sit with you. You were so sad. It broke my heart.”

  “You watched me?”

  “You snore, you know.”

  “Creeper.”

  “I owed it to your mom to keep an eye on you.”

  I took a deep breath, steadying myself for the real question. “Where did she go, Maurice?”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea. Sometimes a few months would go by between my visits. When I came back to see her that last time, she was already long gone. Did the police have any clues?”

  That was a good question. “I don’t remember any police. There must have been, right? I don’t remember her leaving, and I don’t remember anyone searching for her, but they had to have looked. I only remember after. Months after. Dad didn’t talk about it, but then, we never talked about her much. It hurt him too much to remember.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, each regarding the ice in our drinks.

  “So,” I said. “Molly. What’s the story?”

  Maurice frowned into his glass. “Her husband is a drunken asshole.”

  “Ah.” That explained everything. “And what was your plan?”

  He shrugged. “She knocked on the door just after dawn this morning, and I stashed them in the cupboard. All I could think was to get them inside for safety. The fairies won’t let him in through the ring. They’re okay in here.”

  “Safety is good. They also need a better living space and long-term goals. If I’ve got a supernatural halfway house going here, we have to help them get their lives together. Otherwise, I have a feeling folks are going to start stacking up.” I was already making lists in my head, figuring out what I’d need and how to make it happen. After all, that’s what wedding planners do. It’s my livelihood.

  “You’re not mad?”

  “I’m mad you didn’t tell me. And I really could have used the heads-up on what my mom was up to, especially once it started again behind my back. No secrets, Maurice. Obviously, word is getting around. I can’t help if I don’t know. I probably traumatized that poor woman screaming like that. Quit springing shit on me. One of these days I’ll keel over with a heart attack and then who will you cook for?”

  * * *

  I was in my element, drawing up a plan of action and multiple to-do lists. I could hear Sara’s voice in my head informing me that I was, once again, avoiding my own problems by focusing on the problems of others, but I brushed the criticism aside. I had no real problems. I had a pretty good life. Okay, maybe I was a little lonely banging around this big house by myself, but hey, now I had plenty of company.

  The first thing I did was send Maurice to the linen closet to see about getting them some food. They’d been stuck in the dark, terrified, for hours. The kids, at least, must be starving.

  I had to admit, he’d stashed them in a good spot. But I wanted to make it homier and less like, well, like a closet. I’m sure Maurice had seen it as perfect. To him, a closet was ideal. I didn’t know much about brownies, but a family needed more than shelf space and linens. Fortunately, I thought I might have a solution out in the garage.

  My father had been a packrat, and I really wasn’t much better. My little Bug was parked in the driveway because the garage was too full for a vehicle, even one that small. I rarely ventured inside. A few times I’d tried to go through some of the boxes to clean it all out, but the memories were too hard. My childhood was packed away in there. My parents’ lives were stored in plastic containers and cardboard boxes.

  The door complained when I pulled it open. Cobwebs grabbed at me on the way in, as if attempting to talk me out of wading through all my precious junk. I pushed on. At the back wall, I found several boxes marked “Barbie” and pulled them free.

  I had been a complete Barbie junkie when I was little. Every Christmas and birthday brought a new glamorous location for Barbie to spend her time. She had a pool with a cabana, a ballet studio, the dream house, a beauty salon.

  I dug through the boxes, shoving past semi-clothed and fully naked dolls with ratty hair. Why is it, the more you brush a Barbie’s hair, the grosser it ends up getting? I pulled out her van and her airplane and set them out of the way. Near the bottom of the second box, I found wh
at I needed. Sofas, chairs, beds, tables—they were all there, and all as close to the right size as I was going to get. In a shoe box tucked under a wardrobe of moldering doll clothes was a collection of cups and dishes. There was also some tiny silverware, only a little bent from years of chubby fingers stabbing at invisible pancakes. Barbies love pancakes.

  I piled it all into an empty box and folded the flaps down. Satisfied and more than a little pleased with myself, I turned to go.

  Behind me, something sneezed.

  I looked over my shoulder, squinting into the shadows. I didn’t see anything. The second sneeze gave me a better idea of where it was coming from, and I moved my gaze to the corner. An animal—small for a dog, but gigantic for a rat—shifted. I moved closer and peered down.

  Not a rodent, so that was good news. Not a dog, either. It looked more reptilian. At this point, panic probably should have set in. But the sniffly guy didn’t feel hostile. In fact, it seemed pretty damn miserable.

  And it was pink.

  It looked up at me with doe eyes and sneezed again. Tiny sparks shot out of its nostrils.

  Though I may have been past the point of doubting my own sanity, surprise was still in my repertoire.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said in as soothing a voice as I could muster. “You don’t look so good.” What does a person do for a sick baby dragon? I squatted down next to it and stuck out my hand to be sniffed, hoping it wouldn’t sneeze again and give me third-degree burns. Or lop off my well-intentioned hand.

  It smelled the offered fingers, then stuck out a forked tongue and licked me, leaving my skin feeling hot and oddly dry. I patted its head, which radiated heat. The unhappy little thing tilted its head to the side and closed its eyes while I scratched the ridge between its ears. The purring sound it made was much like a cat’s, until it was interrupted by another sneeze that scorched a hole right through my favorite comfy sweats.

  I patted its head again and stood up. “Okay, buddy. You stay here and rest. We’ll get you all fixed up.” Empty promise, that. I had no idea what I was doing.

  Maurice met me at the door. I shoved the box of furniture at him. “These are kind of dirty from being in storage, but they should clean up fine. Did you know about the dragon?”

  “Dragon?” He shifted the box in his arms and looked confused.

  Ha! Finally, I was one up on him. “There is what appears to be a small, pink dragon in the garage. Sneezing. And spraying snot sparks. Probably a fire hazard. Are dragons supposed to be hot?”

  “Dragon?” His expression had gone from confused to blank.

  “Maurice, I need you to focus here. If you don’t know anything about dragons, find somebody who does. I have to make a phone call. Could you maybe get him some water or something? Please?”

  I left him standing in the open doorway juggling a dusty box and looking out the door toward the garage. In the kitchen, I dug through my bag-o-crap and found my phone and a scrap of paper with a number on it. I needed help.

  On the second ring, a cheery voice answered.

  “Andrew, this is Zoey.”

  “Zoey, hey. How’s the head?”

  “Perfect. You’re a miracle man.”

  “Glad I could help. What’s up?”

  “I need more miracles.” I felt bad calling him for help, but he was the only one I knew who not only had mad herbal skills, but wasn’t as likely to think I was out of my mind. I ran through my morning, beginning with the surprising brownie family and ending with the unbelievable dragon. To his credit, he didn’t laugh at all. In fact, he was all business.

  “I’ll pack up some supplies and we’ll be right there. Find out what you can about dragons and we’ll see what we’ve got. Milo’s been pining for you ever since you left the store.”

  I thanked him profusely and gave him directions. I had a strong suspicion a psychic herbalist on retainer was going to make my life a lot easier in the future.

  * * *

  As it turned out, brownies know a whole lot about dragons.

  While I waited for Andrew and Milo, I helped Maurice clean up the Barbie furniture and move it into the closet. I padded the beds with fabric samples and washcloths, set up a table and chairs, and ran an extension cord into the closet to give them a light. The setup was pink, and it was mostly plastic, but it worked. Molly put Abby down for a nap and came to the edge of the shelf to talk to me.

  “You are too kind to us,” she said.

  “I’m sorry it’s not more.” I looked at the cut on her head and her swollen eye. “I have a friend coming who can help with that. You can trust him. If you don’t mind, I’d like him to look at Fred’s arm, too.”

  Poor Molly’s good eye filmed over with tears. “Again, thank you.”

  We spoke in low voices so Abby could sleep. When I told Molly about the dragon in the garage, her face scrunched up with worry.

  “No, they are not supposed to be hot on the outside,” she said. “You must cool him off. His furnace must be broken inside. You do not want him to blow up.”

  Chapter Six

  Halfway up my driveway, Andrew’s battered Pontiac sputtered and died. From my vantage point on the porch, I could hear the starter click-click as he turned the key in the ignition several times. Nothing. He smiled and waved at me from behind the wheel, then reached for the door handle to get out. Again, nothing. He shoved his shoulder against the door a few times, then reached across and tried to open the passenger door. His cheery smile was beginning to fade, and his face had turned an interesting berry shade. From the backseat, Milo’s head popped in and out of sight, his excited barking a faint squeal from within the sealed car.

  “Maurice!” I yelled into the house.

  The monster came flying down the front steps in a rush. “Sorry, sorry!”

  He disappeared around the corner of the house, muttering under his breath. A moment later, both of Andrew’s doors flew open, and he spilled onto the gravel. Milo exploded through the open door, bounced off Andrew’s prone figure, and darted toward me like he’d been shot from a blowgun. The fluffy blur came so fast I didn’t have time to do more than hold my arms out before it launched into the air and plowed into my chest, knocking me back a step. My face was promptly covered in foxy kisses. I laughed and let him do his worst.

  Andrew pulled himself together and made his way up the steps.

  “I am so sorry,” I said. “Fairy Homeland Security didn’t get your clearance.”

  “No worries,” he said, brushing himself off. “But one of these days maybe I’ll be able to say hello to you before doing a supernatural cha-cha first.” He gave me a quick hug over a happily squirming Milo. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?”

  “I’m good, actually. Maybe shock will set in soon, but I think enough weirdness has happened that I’m getting used to it. You don’t seem shaken at all.”

  “I’m unshakeable, doll. Besides, I get to go home afterwards. You’re the one living in Storybook Land.”

  Maurice came around the corner, saw Andrew and ducked his head. He tried to get past us without drawing attention, but he was a little hard to miss.

  “Hey, wait,” I said. I waved my hand back and forth between them. “Andrew, Maurice. Maurice, Andrew.”

  Maurice lifted his head for a second, then ducked down again, mumbling. Undaunted, Andrew stuck his hand out.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Maurice.”

  Maurice stared at the hand for a few ticks before shaking it with a delicate grip. “Nicetomeetyou,” he said, the words tumbling over each other in a rush. He released Andrew’s hand and disappeared into the house.

  I watched him go, my eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Well, that was weird. He’s usually so…outgoing. “

  Andrew’s face was thoughtful. “I used to date a guy like that. He was f
riendly as hell until somebody he didn’t know showed up. Then he’d clam up and wouldn’t talk to anyone. Maurice will come around. You’ll see. I’m too damn charming for him to resist me for long.” He winked.

  I looked Andrew up and down, a little surprised. I took in the yellow Polo shirt and creased designer jeans, the tone of his voice, the jewelry he was wearing. Ah. Of course. I snickered. “How the hell did you get past my gay-dar?”

  He grinned. “You’ve been a little busy. It’s not like I introduce myself that way.”

  “Well, no, but I’m glad I’ve been too preoccupied to start checking out your ass or dangling my cleavage at you. That would be humiliating.”

  “It’s okay.” He turned around, facing the driveway, hands on his hips. “Go ahead. Check out my ass.” He looked over his shoulder at me, waiting.

  I shook my head and snorted. “Yes. Very nice. You could bounce a quarter off that baby.”

  * * *

  I was unsurprised by Andrew’s steady hands and gentle treatment of the brownie family. What I didn’t expect was how quickly they took to him. He spoke with a slow, calming voice and checked their tiny bodies for bruises and scrapes. Aaron and Abby appeared to have escaped physically unscathed. Molly had cleaned up, and without the dried blood, was in much better shape than I had thought. Fred posed a problem. Not only was Andrew not a doctor, he didn’t have a mini x-ray machine on him to determine the extent of Fred’s injuries. After scrutinizing the color of Fred’s arm and making him move his fingertips and shoulder, Andrew decided to immobilize it with a scrap of cloth as a tiny sling.

  “Keep an eye on it, Molly,” he said. “If any part of it changes color, or if he doesn’t improve, call me and I’ll come right back.”

  Molly looked at her oldest son and frowned in worry. “Tell him to keep it in the sling. If you do not specifically say it, he will forget. On purpose.”

  Andrew laughed and looked at Fred. “Don’t move it until I come back and tell you to take off the sling. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Fred looked miserable. Injured pride was the emotion I was getting, not self-pity. I had the strong feeling that Fred was accustomed to taking care of his family.