“What the hell are you worried about?” Meanie barked at Slithers. “You can change into whatever that little prick is scared of! Fred-Fred and I are the ones who’ll be standing in the reassignment line!”
“The work ain’t as available as it used to be, either,” Fred-Fred said sadly.
“I fully understand the plight of our situation, good lads,” Slither said. “I know I have a slight advantage, but I don’t think it’s fair to blame me for that. Besides, the way I see it is the way I always have: We are a team. If one of us has reason to worry, then we all do. As you said, Frederick, the monster market has shrunk in recent years. For prevention measures, children these days are so quickly exposed to real-life terrors like pedophiles and kidnappers that they hardly have the mind-set to imagine anything supernatural to be afraid of. Add to this the multiple avenues they have for hardcore horror entertainment, and it is no wonder that spookies like ourselves are becoming obsolete.”
“You sure talk good,” Fred-Fred said, smiling now despite the seriousness of the situation.
“Thank you, Frederick. As you know, The Kid saw a British film at one point and was not used to the accent and proper diction, and hence became frightened by it.”
“We’re gonna need more than some snooty talk if we’re gonna get this bastard,” Meanie said, putting a cigar in the corner of his mouth. “Now, maybe he’s getting older, and maybe he’s got some creepy rag to read, but you’re forgetting something, and that something is this: I have a perfect record. I have gotten to every other runt I have ever worked on, and I’ll be damned if this runt is gonna break my streak.”
He lit up his cigar and smoked it and chewed it at the same time, drooling mucus and snorting puffs out of his snout like some disgusting magic dragon. The others came closer, huddling around the seasoned veteran, hoping he’d offer hope for them, their mission, and their neighborhood.
“First of all,” Meanie began, “we have to ’fess up to something, and I mean all three of us: We haven’t been scary enough.”
“Meanie!” Fred-Fred said with shock. “How could you say that?”
“That’s a serious insult, sir!” Slithers agreed, indignantly hissing.
“I am saying this for your own good, and I am just as guilty of slacking off here as you guys are. We can stand around stroking ourselves, or we can face facts!”
“What facts?” Slithers demanded.
“The Kid is almost 8, Slithers. Almost 8 years old, and on top of that, he’s a boy. Thebooscares ain’t gonna cut the mustard no more. If we’re gonna get him, and I meanreally get him, we have to contemporize, despite how ridiculous that seems. I know we’re not used to going beyond tradition, but kids these days bring it on themselves. You know that they mock good old monsters like us! They demand more for their terror, and what kind of monsters are we if we don’t provide it?”
Meanie watched as Slithers and Fred-Fred cooled their tempers, the reality of his harsh words sinking in.
“You have a solid point,” Slithers admitted. “I must give you that.”
“Yeah,” Fred-Fred said, hating to admit it but having to.
“Now then,” Meanie said, growing calmer and quieter, “I know I’ve been ducking out at home in the closet there, and I’ll even admit that at first it was because I’d been down and out about this here mess. But lately I’ve been putting my head into it, and I’ve been cooking up a bit of a plan.”
“Delectable, old chap,” Slithers said, “utterly delectable.”
“Whattaya have in mind, Meanie?” Fred-Fred asked.
“I think we’ve been too ... what you’d call impatient. We come out at night and just wanna drag that brat kicking and screaming right outta that bed of his. But when we’re faced with a force field like his blankie or a bodyguard like that plush hound, we scurry back into the darkness with piss dribbling from our peters.”
“But Slithers ain’t got no peter,” Fred-Fred said. “He’s just a pile of stuff.”
“Dummy up, you Underbed ninny.”
“Sorry, Meanie.”
“Now then, I was thinking. We gotta be more than scary, we’ve got to have strategy.”
“What’s strategy?” Fred-Fred asked, scratching with his remaining claw.
“I learned about it from reading those board games that are stacked up in my closet. All them games are about planning how you’re gonna win instead of just jumping right into a shit pile and flailing around like a ding-dong. We’ve relied too much on just being scary. But now it ain’t enough that we’ve got faces like a squonk and more teeth than a shark tank.”
“And Slithers ain’t got no face at all!”
“Fred-Fred, you ain’t helping me none with that.”
“Oh yeah, sorry again.”
“I agree with you, Meanie,” Slithers said. “We must become more cunning if we’re going to get The Kid before the boogeymen come. So what sort of clever ruse did you have in mind?”
Meanie flicked the ashes off his stogie and used his cigar to point at the lump under the comforter at the foot of The Kid’s bed. Sticking out from under the lump was a worn butt made of cotton, the rump of The Kid’s stuffed animal protector, the intimidating doggie named Mr. Rex.
“I think I understand your train of thought,” Slithers said, panting with his sock.
“We’re never gonna get to that little shit with the puppy protector there,” Meanie said. “I say we go for the pup.”
“Aw, jeez,” fretted Fred-Fred. “I dunno, guys. That dog is pretty scary.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what’s scarier, Fred-Fred! That’s the whole damn neighborhood being overrun by boogeymen! I don’t want some hockey-masked killer shacking up in my closet and putting me in line to wait for some hack’s job outside acrib, for Christ’s sake! Too many monster neighborhoods have been turned into slasher slums that way. You wanna be tripping over bloody chainsaws in your own yard? You let their kind in, and soon their whole tribe will take over this joint — fairies with finger-knives, and fatsos wearing someone else’s face! What kind of neighborhood would we be leaving for future generations? Call me a bigot if you want to, but I don’t want no boogeys in my neighborhood, whether they’re replacing me or not!”
“I know, but …”
“But nothing! Yeah, the dog is a mean little S.O.B. I know he took your claw, Fred-Fred, I don’t blame you for being afraid. He didn’t take a chunk out of me, but he tore a big patch of fur outta my keister when he first took patrol in that bed. It grew back, but I ain’t forgotten how I almost lost my ass to the jaws of that KB Toys Cujo!”
Fred-Fred fell silent, knowing Meanie was right. They all did, despite their growing trepidation.
“Now then,” Meanie began, “I ain’t gonna bullshit you guys. You’re my neighbors, and more than that, you’re my friends. Like you said, Slithers, we’re a team. I ain’t gonna stand here and tell you it will be easy to take Mr. Rex. This is an all-or-nothing deal, boys. You’ve gotta ask yourselves right here and now: Are we real monsters, or are we just yesterday’s nightmare?”
Meanie put his cigar back into his mouth and reached forward with his fuzzy, gnarled paw. Slithers came forward with his arm, which tonight was the leg of a pair of jeans, and draped it over Meanie’s fat fist. Fred-Fred saw his friend’s camaraderie and knew that he had to do what was right and that even a creature under the bed had to face his own fears eventually. He came forward with his vulture-like talon and placed it on top of the other hands with a slimyplop.
“We are monsters!” Fred-Fred proclaimed, his eyes like glowing spirals in the darkness of The Kid’s room.
“That’s right,” Meanie said. “And I’ll tell you something else. The only thing that might replace me in that closet is this little brat’s sexuality.”
* * * * *
The Kid sat up, groggy but sure he’d heard the gurgling voice once again. It was the same horrible singsong that had come from beneath his mattress since he was a toddler.
&n
bsp; “Fred-Fred, under your bed, stay tucked in or you’re gonna be dead!” he heard the thing grumble.
He grabbed Mr. Rex and pulled him close to his tummy. His soft body was squishy against his face, and he liked the little hole that had formed on his back where a tiny bit of cotton fluffed out. He sucked on it now in place of his thumb. A thump came from beneath the bed, and he inhaled a small thread. It tickled his throat, preventing him from screaming. That was good. His dad had already had a long talk with him about being brave enough to sleep in his own bed. He knew he was getting too old to go crying to his parents, but he couldn’t help being afraid at night. During the day he was confident, but once the deep shadows of night fell, that confidence crumbled like the toothpick house he’d made in school for Mother’s Day.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The Kid pulled his feet in close to him, far away from the edge. He knew he’d been taking a risk by untucking the blanket from the end of the bed. A mother’s tuck was there for a reason. But, like his father, his feet got hot, and so he kicked them off in his sleep. That was why he placed Mr. Rex at the edge, for reinforcement. But now he was holding on to him like a semiconscious boxer holds on to the ropes, and the noise below was like a hippie drum circle gone rabid.
He dared to peek over the edge, and was immediately sorry that he had.
* * * * *
Fred-Fred knew The Kid was looking now. It was simple monster’s intuition. Slithers had explained that to him. Knowing The Kid was peeking over the side, Fred-Fred had pulled back the rolls of blubber at his belly and let his tentacles unfurl. He had six of the multihued octopus limbs, and he let them flail now, three shooting out from each side of the bed, all of them hammering away like Tommy Lee on a whip-it binge.
This got The Kid going, which got the dog barking, as was Meanie’s plan. Fred-Fred was excited that things were going well so far. He farted with delight and continued to pound the floorboards.
* * * * *
“Jeez,” Meanie said from the dim corner. “Fred-Fred is really putting his muscle into it, huh? Full-on monster style, just like we had in the old days.”
“It is a good show, good sir,” Slithers said. “By now I’d say The Kid has a full helping of steamy macaroni in his britches.”
“Yeah, and that fleabag doll of his is yapping up real nice. That’s our cue, buddy. Let’s move.”
The two monsters catapulted their ghastly forms from the enveloping dark, purposefully making themselves visible in the moonlight that knifed through the wide gap in the curtains. Meanie held fast to his hobgoblin origin by doing a ghoulish jig around the bed while Slithers shimmied about and coiled up the posts of the headboard. He stuck to the end of the bed, while Meanie began to bounce around on the left, letting Fred-Fred emerge from under the right side of the mattress. This way, they surrounded the entire frame, leaving The Kid trapped and making it possible for only one of them to be assaulted by Mr. Rex. It was a toss-up, they knew, but they had a plan, and Slithers was both brave and true to his word.
Slithers had volunteered to lure the hound toward him. He knew it would be painful to be shredded to bits, but he could always re-form. If he could just tease the doggie enough with one dangling shred of his clothing carrion, it may very well give his monster teammates the edge they needed to really get The Kid once and for all. Slithers wasn’t keen on potentially being mangled, but he was far less keen on the idea of living next door to some filthy boogeyman, especially if they were inspired by one of those movie remakes, the true bottom-of-the-barrel breeds. Though he considered himself an open-minded, liberal monster, he still shivered to think of the vacuous depths his property value would plummet to if boogeys started to move in. Compared to that travesty, he felt that this effort was well worth the risk of grievous bodily harm.
However, Mr. Rex went for Meanie first. He was dancing about like a horny teenager at a paint-huffing party, so the doggie rocketed to his end of the bed right away, bucking and braying like a government mule. Meanie and Slithers caught each other’s eye and nodded in agreement, knowing the plan. Meanie ducked under the edge of the bed, popping his head into Fred-Fred’s house. At the same time, Slithers unfurled his arm as far as it would go, ripping some of the stitching at the seam. He rolled it back up and then quickly darted it out as if snapping a towel. He cracked Mr. Rex right on his cotton-filled ass, and the doggie yelped from the pain and went spinning in the air like a pinwheel.
In addition to this, it seemed as if luck was their lady tonight, because Mr. Rex’s body fell directly onto the bedpost, and its frayed edge snagged the worn hole in his back, leaving him somewhat impaled. He spun on it, spilling bits of his fluffy guts as he cried out in his failure.
Fred-Fred was first to notice the doggie’s disadvantage.
“It’s payback time, ya jerk!” he croaked, wrapping a tentacle around Mr. Rex’s body and pulling him down farther on the post, sending the wooden pillar all the way through his back and out his belly. The doggie writhed in an agonizing death, and Fred-Fred smiled so wide at Mr. Rex’s squeals of agony that he nearly dislocated his jaw.
Meanie saw what had transpired above him, and excitement pulsed in his black blood. He sprang from under the bed like an angry hornet. With the guard dog down, Meanie was so ready to attack The Kid that he completely forgot about the comforter. He raged toward the bedside, delighting at the look of abject horror that dominated The Kid’s pallid face, and he slammed his paws down right on the comforter like a dumb shit. The burning sensation was like an electrical current, charring his palms and sending muscle spasms jolting through his entire body. He screamed, and so did The Kid.
Slithers was fast to react, though, and once again he whip-snapped his arm, knocking Meanie away from the dangerous comforter. But in doing so he ripped the shirt that was his upper torso, and he collapsed within himself, falling into a tangled mess upon the floor. He howled out in a muted echo as his body disappeared.
All of this commotion was enough to finally make The Kid go berserk. He began bawling huge crocodile tears and flailed about, not knowing which way to turn. He was panicking now, and in his panic he decided, stupidly, to leave the security of his bed in a desperate dash for the door. Somehow he stepped right between Fred-Fred’s writhing tentacles.
Despite the fact that he was still rattled by the comforter’s burning, Meanie very clearly saw The Kid making his mad dash. He wasted no time, knowing there was none left. In a thunderous somersault, he projected himself completely over the bed, forming himself into one big, blue ball of rank fur. He slammed into The Kid like a cannonball, and felt the little brat’s body crumble beneath his weight as he was knocked to the floor. The Kid squirmed beneath him as he reformed, and The Kid even managed to turn over, but this brought him face to face with Meanie’s mug, a hardened monster mash of a face that Meanie’s own mother had deemed too ugly to kiss. The Kid squealed like a pig being branded — which, in a way, he was.
Meanie balled up his paw and slammed a hard fist into The Kid’s face. His nostril expelled a hot squirt of blood, and the propulsion knocked the back of his head into the hardwood floor. Meanie let his large, brown tongue plop out of his mouth like a cat turd into the snow, steaming and stinking as it lapped up the blood from The Kid’s nose. It had been so long since he’d had a taste of human gore that he’d almost forgotten how lustrous and savory it was. He let his eyes bulge out of his head to the point where the connective tissue showed, and he made his horns curve downward like a bull toward some rookie matador. Pink steam blew out of his nostrils, cloaking The Kid in a crazy haze.
“Eat him, Meanie! Eat the little bastard!” he heard Fred-Fred cheer.
Inhaling after spraying his mist, Meanie could smell the urine The Kid had let go in his pajamas. It was like a botanical garden in May to him. The little prick wasn’t just shaking beneath him, he was convulsing enough to register on the Richter scale. All the blood had left his face, and the small amount of maturity that had started to blo
ssom within The Kid had vanished now, and likely wouldn’t come back for a long time.
Meanie smiled in triumph. He had made The Kid his bitch.
* * * * *
There was a brief instant of disappointment when the bedroom door was flung open. Meanie thought that the hulking shadow standing there in the hall was a boogeyman, showing up to take his place just as he was making progress. But it wasn’t a new nightmare, it was just The Old Man, The Kid’s pop. Meanie jumped off of The Kid and scurried back to Fred-Fred’s place, wiggling under the bed frame just before the lights were flicked on.
“What in the Sam Hill are you doing in here?” The Old Man asked.
The Kid was shaking and crying on the floor in a puddle of his own piss with a trickle of blood coming out of one nostril. He was unable to control himself and jumped up at his father, wrapping his arms around him tightly.
“Son,” The Old Man said, addressing him, “why are you trashing your room at eleven o’clock at night? What the heck is wrong with you?”
“They tried to eat me, Dad!” The Kid bawled.
The Old Man took a look around the room. He noticed that The Kid had broken one of his toys, the stupid dog doll that The Old Man thought he was getting too big for anyhow. He’d also apparently rolled out of bed again. It had been a long time since his bad dreams had caused him to do that, but judging by the cooling piss that pressed against his leg as his son hugged him, The Old Man figured playing soccer with some older kids wasn’t growing him up as easily as he thought it might.
“They tried to eat me!” The Kid cried again. “They almost got me this time!”
The Kid pulled back his head and looked up at The Old Man. He noticed that his son had a bloody nose once again, on top of everything else. He just wouldn’t stop picking. At least he wasn’t eating his boogers anymore, or at least not in front of other people.
Growing Dark Page 7