Meaner Than A Monster

A chorus of children’s voices yell “trick-or-treat” from the front door as a puffy-eyed girl, Annie, hugs a pillow to her chest. A plastic pumpkin watches her from her desk as she sniffles and misses the wire bin with her tissue.

“Honey,” her mum says, knocking on the door, “are you ready to go?”

“I don’t feel well,” she lies. “I’m just going to stay home tonight.”

“Are you sure, sweetie? Is there anything I can get you? I know how much you love this time of year.”

“I’m fine, mum. I’ll just be in bed.”

“Okay. I’ll get you when dinner is ready.” Footsteps grow quieter down the hallway, leaving Annie to her silent sobbing.

~

My human is a funny one. She’s not loud and extroverted. She does her homework every night when she gets home from school and doesn’t get into trouble. She hasn’t got a lot of friends and gets teased a lot at school, but she’s a good kid. I know all of this because she wrote about it in her diary that she keeps under her bed. That’s where I live.

Spotting her pair of aviator goggles and fluffy hat, Annie tosses the pillow aside and kicks them under the bed, pushing them up against one of my tentacles. Not the worst thing that I’ve found poking at me under here.

Climbing back onto her bed, she hugs her knees to her chest and stares blankly ahead. Crumpled costume sketches litter her bedroom floor, along with lists of all the best houses to visit.

Maybe…

A little scare…

Will lift her spirits.

I weave an arm through a small crack in the wall and into the wires, flickering and pulsing the lights. Annie trumpets her nose into a tissue, not seeming to notice.

I push the chair towards her desk, sending the fake jack-o-lantern to the floor. She wipes the salty droplets from her cheeks and misses the bin yet again.

Maybe seeing me will work. Children are always afraid of the monster under their beds. I tuck away the frills on my back and hide my sharp teeth. I want to give her a little fright, not traumatise the poor child.

I crawl out from under the bed and stand by her wardrobe, nervously fidgeting with my tentacles. I never know what to do with my limbs.

Wiping her red nose with the sleeve of her jumper, her two brown eyes meet the eight of mine. Bewildered for a second, her eyes fall back to the end of her bedframe.

“You… you can see me… right?”

“Yes, Mr monster,” Annie replies, her voice muffled by the pillow between her knees and chest. “I can see you.”

“Oh… good… just checking.”

Staring awkwardly at her, my voice catches in my throat. I’ve never spoken to a human before.

“Aren’t you… scared?”

“No,” she replies.

“Oh… well… hi….” I give her a small wave with my sangria-coloured tentacle, blinking my eyes one by one.

Annie waits a moment before shyly returning my wave, shuffling back toward her bedhead and staring off into the distance.

“May I?” I gesture to a space on her bed. She nods her head and returns to hug her knees to her chest. A slight bounce cushions me as I sit next to her. This side of the bed is much comfier than the other.

“Are all monsters mean?” she asks.

“What? Who said that? Monsters aren’t mean at all.”

“Well… Christine and Natalie and the other kids are mean… and they’re monsters.”

Ah yes, Christine and Natalie, two of the ‘popular kids’ at her school. She’s only mentioned them a few times in her diary, but from what I’ve read, they aren’t very nice.

“What happened today?” I ask. She shifts in her spot, now facing me. Lines curl between her eyebrows as she looks me up and down, wondering if I’m real or just in her head. Whatever she decides, she begins to tell me about her day.

~

Between our conversation, three lots of trick-or-treaters visit the house, leaving with their bags slightly heavier with lollies and sweets.

“And when I went to pick up my books, she said that… that I was too dumb to be a pilot and that I was too much of a scaredy-cat and that I was… that I was a freak.”

I find myself following along with Annie as she takes three deep breaths to calm herself down. In and out. In and out. In and out.

“You know,” I say, “you need to have a lot of courage to talk to a monster. And you need to be pretty smart to make your own costume for Halloween.”

Taking the tissue from my tentacle, she offers me a weak smile before blowing her nose.

“Well… it doesn’t matter anymore,” she says. “I’m not going out tonight.”

Taking her goggles and fluffy hat out from under the bed, I place them next to her.

“Do you know how old I am?” I ask her. She seems taken aback by the question, raising an eyebrow and shrugging her shoulders after a moment.

“392 years, eight months, one week and five days old, give or take a day.” With widened eyes and mouth hanging open, Annie stares at me in amazement.

“Wow! That’s a long, long, long, long time.”

“I know. And in all of that time, a lot of people said very mean things to me. They made me feel sad and small. I used to hide away and not go outside at all. It’s safe inside. Alone. By yourself.”

She nods in response, her smile now sad and understanding.

“But one day,” I say, “I realised that if I let other people’s words tear me down, I wouldn’t be able to see the world, to do cool things, or have fun.”

I offer her the end of my tentacle. She accepts and places her hand on it.

“Annie, you can’t let these mean people keep you from your dreams. They have no clue how amazing and wise and brave you really are.”

She stares at the goggles, thinking hard on my very wise words of advice.

“I… I don’t know. What if they’re out there, and they see me and start to tease me again?”

Her hand slips out from my tentacle, and she returns her knees to her chest.

“Well, would you feel better if I went with you?”

Her eyes sparkle. Getting up, she walks on her bed and hugs me tight. A warm feeling infects my insides, and before long, a smile blooms on my face.

“Thank you, Mr Monster.”

“You’re welcome, Annie. You’re welcome.”