This is an archived Writers' Workshop draft and is kept here so that the author may retrieve it at will. New story drafts are not to be posted in Discussions.
An evil monster haunts my room.
I’ve told Mommy about it, but she doesn’t believe me.
“Sweetheart, I know you’ve got a wild imagination. But your little mischief isn’t gonna work with me. Now move along, dear- in a minute, Irene*- you hear that? Mommy’s gotta get back to yoga class!”*
I’ve told Daddy about the monster too.
He doesn’t believe me either.
“Amy, honey, don’t lie to Daddy. You know how busy office keeps him, right? There’s no monster. Now, please, let me concentrate!”
No matter how much I convince, they are just not willing to take my word!
And all through this, my monster keeps terrorizing me.
“…Hey, Amy. Why don’t you bring some friends over? We can all play together! Oh, I forgot- you don’t have any friends!…”
“…I see you snuck in another muffin! Looks like you’re trying to be round and huge too. Just like me!…”
It hasn’t once laid its hideous fingers on me. But its obnoxious words are more than enough to make me cry like a girl.
I wish my parents will do something about it- but they don’t believe me!
I overhear them talking.
“…Think we should check her room. See if something’s actually wrong?”
“Well if you’ve got the time, do it. I cannot- you know how busy I’m with work! Besides, she has a thing for cooking stories. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. Her teacher called last week. Got into some trouble with her art class friends over some crazy story. Don’t remember what it was- Irene was here for Yoga…Oh, that’s her- yeah, coming, Irene*…”*
They think I’m telling stories. They don’t believe my monster is real.
I have to prove them.
It is real.
One night, I walk up to it. Before it can hiss its verbal venom, I provoke it.
“Get outta here, you hideous, no-good turd! You’re not even a good monster. You don’t have the guts to hurt me, do you? Boo-hoo, I’m not scared of you!”
This makes it mad. It screeches and digs its razor-sharp claws into my wrists. Scratches me on the face, too, leaving behind a bloody trident on my cheeks.
I didn’t expect its anger to be so painful. It makes me let out a bloodcurdling scream.
This causes Mommy and Daddy to rush into my room. The sight of my nasty, bloodied injuries makes them both scream.
The monster was clever. It escaped just in time, so Daddy couldn’t catch it.
But my parents take me more seriously now. Mommy lets me do yoga with her friends. Daddy cooks me a tasty breakfast.
It feels nice.
But sometimes, they aren’t very nice to me. Start ignoring me again.
Disappointed, I walk back to my room.
And then, I see it again.
Hidden behind the mirror’s glass. Lips curled in a crazy smile. Her wooden-pencil claws pressed sharply onto her wrists.
“Hey, hideous,” she grins at me.
I grin back.
Then we both scream.