Flash Fiction: The Monster Under My Bed

You know that song, The Monster, with Rihanna and Eminem?  If you don’t, that’s good, that’s very good, stay far away from it.  If you do, then maybe you’ll understand my position, here.

Every time the phrase “I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed” is repeated in the song, I get slightly agitated.  Because, obviously, we’ve ALL made friends with that monster!

When we were children, we thought the monsters under our beds were going to eat us!  (Mine is named Phil, he has only one mouth but it is three feet of mangled fangs and serrated teeth) — our only options seemed to be “future midnight snack” or “make friends with it.”

Phil and I are still friends.  He stays under my bed pretty often.

One night, a couple years ago, Phil and I were getting drunk together (it takes a lot of booze to get a shadowy chitinous monster with a three-foot murder-mouth drunk, but we succeeded), and he told me the big secret.  I couldn’t believe it.  If I wrote for Buzzfeed, I would call it “The Biggest Secret You Have to Know About Today!”

But I don’t, so I’ll just tell you.

We spent a lot of our childhood hiding from the monsters under our beds, pulling the covers up around our bodies as tight as we could, hiding under the comforter, etc… we would hold our pee and sit in the center of the mattress because we didn’t want the monster to grab our ankles as we slid out of bed to run to the bathroom.  We would leave all the lights on out of some mistaken belief that evil things couldn’t happen in the wide bright open.

But it turns out, the monsters were under the bed for a reason.

They were hiding from us.

Share This:Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr
Stalk Me:Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblrinstagram

Published by

thesrhughes

I’m a writer of horror, dark sci-fi, and dark fantasy.