I hate the night time. But I hate those things more. Little Anita was having nightmares, so her parents gave her grandmother some money and then she and her grandmother went to the store and bought me off the shelf. She carried me around all day. Her hair smelled of lavender. She held me so tight, so tight.
The first night was the worst. After her parents kissed her goodnight, her grandmother read her a story, closed the door and turned off the light. When the grandmother’s steps faded from down the hall, Anita held me close and whispered into my ear.
“Will you stay awake for me, Thomas?”
I didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I knew I could. She held me close and turned over. It was quiet and dark for a long, long time. Then I heard something hiss from underneath her bed.
Shivers ran up my seams and spine. I moved the legs I didn’t know I could move. The floorboards creaked.
I tried to squirm out from under her arm, and then I heard something big and heavy breathing below us. My arms and legs struggled as she held me tighter. Something moved from underneath her bed, then rose up, its horns scraping the ceiling.
Its nostrils twitched as it sniffed the air. Twin rows of red eyes lined its long snout. Its teeth were the size of Anita’s fingers. It smelled like her grandmother.
I thrashed and twisted in Anita’s arms. The thing rose high above us and blew a sharp breath out of its nose. I pushed her arm and slipped underneath her. She shifted in her sleep as the creature loomed above us.
I spun around and shook her shoulders. I spoke with words I did not know I had.
“C’mon,” I said to her, “C’mon, please, please, please, wake-up, wake-up.”
She didn’t stir; didn’t move. She lay there sleeping, deep within her soft blankets and comforters. When I felt the creature’s warm breath on my back, I turned around and it lean closer to us.
My legs were shaking so hard as it got closer, its red eyes blinking in the dark and the gloom of her room. It laid a clawed hand on Anita’s arm. I punched it in its face.
It flinched and reared back, and then snaked down towards me. I ran, rolled, and tumbled off her bed, landing belly-first on the floor. It lunged at me. I scrambled out of the way, my furry feet slipping across the wooden floor. Its claws tore into the floor as it chased me, wooden splinters pelting my back and arms. I ran toward her toy box, and the thing raked and clawed my back. I felt my fabric blossom open. I cried out, cotton stuffing sprouting from my wounds.
I ran, stumbled, and ran from the creature. It didn’t follow me. It turned around and crept back to the little one. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to collapse, to scream, and pound my fists on the floor, but all I thought about was how badly it would hurt her if it got close to her.
So I ran to her toy box, flung open the lid, and began pelting it with anything I could find: wooden blocks, bouncing rubber balls, little carved chairs and tables from her doll set. It ignored me at first, until I hit it in its nose. It whipped around, blinked at me, and crawled toward me as I showered its face and back with the little cups and saucers from her tea set. Its lips peeled back as it slunk across the floor. I was throwing metal jacks at it when it snatched me up in its jaws.
I screamed as its finger-sized teeth punctured my back and belly, my tiny furry fists battering its face as it chewed. I rammed the metal jacks deep into its eyes, and it roared as I rolled out of its mouth.
I crawled toward her closet as it swiped at its face with its claws. I held my stomach, trying to keep my cotton stuffing in as I searched through her dresses of pressed lace and linen. I was looking, searching, trying to find something, anything that I could use. I found a croquet stick leaning in the corner of her closet.
I strode out, wooden mallet spinning in my hands. The creature turned around to face me, most of its eyes bleeding and slammed shut. It hissed at me as I walked closer to it. It slunk forward, away from Anita Bennent, the little girl that held me all day. I felt a warmth blossom within my chest, loud and hard and strong. I spoke with words I did not know I had.
“C’mon,” I said to it, “C’mon!”
It lunged again, and I swung with everything I had, striking it on its jaw. I struck it again and again as it tried to crawl away from me, hunkered down and dragging itself back underneath the bed. I pounded the mallet against its face and back until the shaft broke, then I speared it through its belly. The creature fell, and its body curled around the broken haft of the croquet stick. I walked over to its head, my hand clutching my side as I went, and I kicked it in its face.
Its fat tongue rolled out. Its red eyes dimmed. I kicked it again and again until I fell down weeping. I wiped my eyes, got up, and limped back to her bed.
I climbed back up her deep comforters and blankets. Stumbled to her side, cotton fluff falling out as I went, and crawled under her arm. Her hair smelled of lavender. She held me so tight, so tight.
I wanted to sleep so bad, so bad, but I was so scared. Before she went to sleep, before that creature came, she asked me to stay awake for her. She knew what waited for her if she slept. She knew about the things hidden in the dark. She asked me to stay awake for her. So I did.
The dawn streamed through the window. The creature’s body disappeared, along with the torn up floor. When she woke up, she smiled at me and kissed my head. I wanted to cry so bad, but I didn’t.
The parents came in later, saw me torn up and all of her broken toys and blamed it on the dog. The grandmother took me, restuffed and sewed me back up. When her parents asked her if she had any nightmares last night, she smiled and said “no”. I felt the warmth settle into my stomach when she said that. Later that day, her parents bought me a sword and helmet.
And now every night, after her parents have kissed her goodnight and her grandmother has read her a story, after her grandmother turns off the light and closes the door, Anita holds me close to her chest and asks me if I’ll stay awake for her tonight. I don’t say anything, because I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t want to tell her how much I hate the quiet and the dark, those frozen and still moments before another creature slinks from under her bed. I want to tell how every stitch of me wants to stay in her arms and let her hair warm my face as we drift off to sleep. But I can’t. I can’t. She holds me too tight.
As she sleeps, something hisses from underneath her bed. I wriggle out from underneath her arm. The moonlight glints off my blade as another creature rises up from the foot of her bed. It has come out to face me.
I hate the night time. But I hate those things more.
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Photo Cred:
http://begemott.deviantart.com/art/sweet-halloween-dreams-42197587
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