I Am The Monster Under Your Bed

Evie M.

And we need to have a little chat about our roommate situation.

Note from the author: This story is pure fiction and meant for entertainment purposes only.


photo courtesy of nadiabormotova on depositphotos.com

Hi, it’s good to see you.

I’m sorry I made you scream, but frankly, you know what I look like and that I’m self-conscious about my eyeless sockets, so get your shit together and stop the tears, it’s insulting.

We need to have a discussion.

Can I sit on your bed? I’m gonna sit on the bed.

Look, I’ve been your monster for how long? You moved to this house when you were five, right? And you’re what age now? I’m sure I heard Violet — how is your mom by the way? — scream at you earlier that you just turned twenty-seven and need to get a job.

Congratulations! Where has the time gone, huh?

Okay, I missed all your birthdays, but I don’t have a calendar under there, just some crusty jizz socks and curdling milk in a cereal bowl.

I know, I know. You couldn’t invite me to the parties. Violet would’ve hit me with the broom again, but you could’ve at least brought me a goody bag or a slice of cake.

Wait, you didn’t have goody bags? What kind of D-lister doesn’t have goody bags at their party?

No, it’s fine. Your birthday isn’t why I’ve come to see you. I’ve been having some issues with our roommate situation lately.

I can handle the late-night Hulu sessions, the crying, even the rare date.

(I didn’t even have to crawl from under the bed and check out the girl from last week’s face to know how disappointed she was after she left. Good times.)

I can stomach it all, really, I like to think it’s one of the reasons I have five. But monsters need happy living spaces, too, and we have to have a discussion. Yes, that’s right, about your music career.

It’s not that you’re bad, it’s just the blood coming from my ears isn’t oozing on purpose like the other holes in my face or even my gums.

Don’t cry. I know I said I don’t mind the crying but in truth, I lied so dear Lucifer stop crying, dammit.

Thank you.

Look, I’ll put it as plainly as I can. You’re not getting on The Voice anytime soon.

Yes, I know the judges look for original spins on songs like the one you prepared, don’t try to explain The Voice to me, I introduced you to the show. You know I follow everything Christina Aguilera does in her career, don’t pretend.

No, no, your rapping isn’t much better. Yes, I understand how many Soundcloud followers you have.

Anyway. I’m not the kind of friend to hold you back from your dreams, even if I did piss all over them just now. And if they’re not going to stop anytime soon, I have to think about me.

So, I’ve decided to move out.

Come on, don’t make this weird.

You know there are no other options, I’ve tried living in all the nooks and crannies of the house. I even tried under your parent's bed for a night. Needless to say, if I had to choose between staying there or going back to the Cornfield Motel where I slept under a scabies ridden cot and on top of a dead body stain, I’d return to the motel every time. Sleeping in your shower made my fur smell like mildew.

And I could still hear you. No, the song didn’t sound better from outside of the room, focus.

There’s just no way this will work anymore. Sometimes friends need space to find themselves, you know? Maybe there’s more for me beyond your room (which needs a serious hit of Febreeze, just FYI.) and there’s certainly more for you.

No, not American Idol or X-Factor instead of The Voice. You’ve gotta let that go, buddy.

There’s no reason to be so sad. You’re a man now! I mean, you’ve been a man for a while and have sat on your ass the whole time, but what better moment is there to mature than the present!

And we’ll always have the memories. By the way, I figured I should tell you it was me who put your hand in that warm cup of water at your first sleepover, not Jeremy.

I let that kid take the fall, yes, but he deserved it. Jeremy was a nose-picker. Why were you friends with a nose-picker in the first place, tell me that?

First the goody bags, then Jeremy (which is such a nose-picker name, by the way.)


This is why we need to go our separate ways. Your life choices are questionable.

I’m sorry if it’s harsh but I’ve been rehearsing under your bed for months and the flood gates are opened now, I can’t stop.

And besides, hearing these things is good for you. It can help you pick up the pieces of your life. And, if I must say, you’ve had an easy life — there should be no pieces to gather but here we are. Now it’s time to make something of it.

Oh! My brother told me the other day Henry, his assigned kid who’s now about your age, got a degree from Devry recently. That could be cool!

Excuse me.

I don’t just lay around under the bed all day. Monstering is a career, thank you, and it didn’t seem like a “waste of time” when you asked to borrow the money I found under clients beds’ all those times.

I told you, they leave the bills and coins as a tip.

Let’s not get started on me while we’ve hardly scratched the surface of the five-star cluster-fuck that is you.


As I was saying.

There are always options. But unfortunately, all of mine are beyond this bedroom door without you. Maybe I’ll be relocated to a nice penthouse in Paris, rarely used except for on vacation where I can settle down under a cushy canopy bed.

After being assigned to you for so long, I deserve some rest. Sorry.

And I guess that’s a good a note to leave on as any. I’ve got my bags, and now for the first time in forever, you’ve got the bed to yourself.

Look at that. You’re already movin’ up in the world.

So lie down and enjoy sleep without your regular night terrors, because this change will be great for you, I promise. And every time you hear a door creak, an odd whisper when you’re alone in the house, or the shriek of tree branches on your window, that just might be a horrific (but very well maintained) set of nails, think of me.

But don’t call. Seriously, don’t.

Oh, a few more things before I go. Take some time to reevaluate your life. If the monster under your bed checks out, maybe some shifting in a different direction is in order.

And try practicing some personal hygiene once in a while. I slept in that tub/shower combo for weeks. We both know how often you used it.

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"Reader beware, you're in for a scare!--R.L. Stine"

Orlando, FL

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