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“Mommy! Daddy! There’s a monster under my bed!"

“Oh, what’s wrong, boo?” Mommy asked reaching over to click on the lamp sitting on her bed table.

“A monster Mommy! A monster Daddy! A monster, a monster!”

“Alright let’s take a look,” Daddy said through a yawn. He climbed out of bed and stretched. He slipped on his robe and stepped into his slippers and shuffled down the hall to his daughter’s room.

He knelt down beside the bed and lifted the princess-themed blankets and sheets dangling in a clump below the boxspring. Sure enough, there was a monster cowering beneath his daughter’s bed.

It was about three feet tall, but it was hard to say for sure since it was squished in the narrow space between the floor and the bottom of the bed. It had gaunt limbs fixed to a bloated trunk. Its breathing was labored, it almost sounded like a gurgle. Its matte skin was a dull green. Its ears were long, and flexible. Its eyes were to pieces of coal set in to deep pools of ruby and they were locked on to Daddy’s as he examined it. Its pug nose wiggled like a curious cats.

“Mommy, can you bring me a broom, the yellow dish gloves, a dust pan, a couple trash bags and the bleach.”

Mommy returned with the supplies. “Is everything okay?”

“Yup, yup,” Daddy grunted as he pulled on the dish gloves and turned on his side, gripping the broom bristle side toward him. He jabbed the stick end of the broom into the monster. It shrieked. He reared back and jabbed it again, this time much harder. The monster yelped. Father finally found a soft spot and he jabbed it repeatedly until the monster stopped making any noise at all.

He flipped the broom around gripping the wet handle and swept the wet mess of the monster from under the bed and shoved the muck into the dust pan. He dumped the monster in doubled bag, poured in some bleach and knotted it.

“We’ll let Margarita clean the rest of this up tomorrow.”

“Did you get it, Daddy,” Daughter asked clinging to Mommy’s leg.

“It’s gone, boo. Daddy got it.”

The bag suddenly thrashed in Daddy’s hand. Daughter screamed. “Don’t worry, boo. It’s a residual reaction, it’s just the monster's nervous system. It’s natural.”

Daddy lumbered out to the front door and dropped the doubled black trash bags into the garbage can. It continued to twitch for several hours, long after Mommy, Daddy and Daughter had returned to bed and fallen asleep.

Date Written: October 31, 2004
Author: scoop
Average Vote: 3.8571

Comments:
11/5/2004 qualcomm: who's the real monster, i wonder
11/5/2004 The Foonch (3): I was kinda hoping that maybe it was Uncle Wally under the bed, stroking his cock and quoting from Mein Kampf.
11/5/2004 The Foonch: um...

Signed,
The Foonch

11/5/2004 TREE (3):
11/5/2004 TheBuyer: Cartoonish and PG, I think this would make a cool animated short.
11/5/2004 The Rid (4): I have to four-star this for Daddy's calmness and ingenuity. Does this sort of thing happen all the time, I wonder, or is Dad just a tough, reliable guy?
11/5/2004 TheBuyer: The Rid, I dunno if daddy is so tough, that monster went down pretty easy. I would feel sorry for it if I didn't know it had killed and eaten their other child.
that gap between three and four is too wide, I don't know what star value adequately expresses my feelings for this short. If only scoop's barbed horse cock were here...
11/5/2004 Litcube (4): Daddy wore gloves. He's a pussy. I applaud the PG rating.
11/5/2004 The Rid: TheBuyer, I think that, if indeed dealing with monsters is a regular occurrence (based on Dad's calm attitude), we can assume he's had to deal with some seriously tough monsters before, and that this one was kind of a puss. For some reason. Maybe there should be a short about that, too?
11/5/2004 TheBuyer: I see what you mean. Like finding a snake in your backyard in Australia - could be either harmless or one of the ten most lethal in the world. Either way they're clearly pests, and either way I have no idea what to rate this.
11/5/2004 Litcube: Why Australia!?
11/5/2004 TheBuyer: As we learned from Survivor, Australian Outback, Australia is home to nine of the ten deadliest snakes in the world. Also, undeadly ones.
11/5/2004 TheBuyer (5): I take back my PG rating. The monster is tragic, the victim of prejudice. 5 stars and shame on you for killing an innocent.
11/6/2004 John Slocum (4): interesting - no authors rated this? Why not? Slocum wants to know. This is well written and I dig the flat, bored, routine tone of the father.
11/6/2004 Mr. Pony (4): You raise an interesting point, Slocum. As authors, I feel we have a duty to the site to comment, or at least vote on as many shorts as we can. Such interaction is nearly as vital to the site as the addition of new material, in my opinion. As for why I did not vote on this (and other shorts) yesterday, I was in very important meetings all day, including one conference call. Following that, I had to go out buy some new pants. It seems that where a 34 inch waist used to suit me just fine, I find that I am much happier in a pair of pants with a 35 inch waist; and I have upgraded my fleet of pants accordingly. I will endeavor to catch up on my missed voting soon.
11/6/2004 TheBuyer: fleet of pants
11/6/2004 Ewan Snow: Slocum, the foonch is an author. So you were wrong. An auther did vote. So there.
11/7/2004 scoop: How do you know that Ewan, because your the freaking Foonch?
11/7/2004 John Slocum: An author is not a person, it's a screen name. No screen name authors voted. I rest me case. Quid erat demonstratum.
11/8/2004 Ewan Snow: no, becaue feldspar is. asshole.
11/8/2004 The Fînch: Feldspar is not the Foonch. Maybe. Gosh, I don't know.

Signed,
The Finch
11/8/2004 qualcomm: i am not the finch.

signed,
the lærpa
11/8/2004 Mr. Pony: No one accused you of being the Finch, qualcomm. Nice evasion, dude.
11/8/2004 Jon Matza: Not all accusations are verbal, Pony.
11/8/2004 qualcomm: some are ANAL. yah! yah!
11/11/2004 The Foonch: You are all twats.

Signed,
The Foonch