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I thought I'd give you a little Halloween-ish story...
"Don't forget your milk, honey.
- But, Mom, I don't like milk. Never have.
- Never mind that. Take it up to your room all the same. Someone will drink it.
- Someone? Like Santa or some other creep? That's what you're saying?
- Someone. There is actually no telling who. Surely you must have noticed that it was being drunk..."
She was right. As much as Marybel wanted to see her mother wrong, there was no denying that fact. In the morning her glass of milk was always empty or thereabout. She'd thought this was due to the cat creeping into her room at night or to mice, even. She'd even tried to see if her parents weren't doing anything phony there, like trying to persuade her that Santa or the Tooth-fairy were real. As if! She'd googled them too long ago to give any credit to that line of thought.
"So what's it, then? Archie?
- Now, now; you know Archie isn't allowed upstairs. It's bad for your father's asthma.
- Then who? Or what? Dust bunnies?
- There are no dust bunnies in any of the rooms!
- Hey, no use shouting. I know you keep that place clean. I could eat from my bedroom floor. In fact, I 've been always surprised of how you let me bring snacks upstairs. Louelle isn't allowed to. Her mom won't let her. Says it brings in all sorts of creepers in. Worms. Spiders. Ants.
- Crumbs have their use. Just like milk. Be glad they exist and that they disappear. Be glad.
- Or else?2
Her mother just shrugged away, waving her up to bed without an answer.
Marybel shook her head, barely holding the glass of milk between two fingers. Her mom was just too weird. It must have been all that pot she must have smoked as a flower girl. Or other substances. Or maybe she read too many romances or fantasy books. Things with dark hooks and crannies, secret places, cursed cupboard and shadows full of mysteries. And sex. That she knew from borrowing a few of her mother's books. The filth in them! Nothing authorised by the Board of Education, that's for sure. Yet, always good for a giggle with Louelle. Maybe that was it. Just too many forbidden books. She'd been told how bad they were for someone's development.
Turning on the light, she placed the glass on the floor, right below her pillow. She could try and stay up and figure out who was drinking the milk. Probably her mother. Or some bug, hungry for more than just a few crumbs. Although it would have to be a big bug, come to think of it...
She shivered the thought away and went on about getting ready for the night, checking the batteries on her torch light on the way.
She sneaked into bed, frowning at the glass. It looked less full somehow. But maybe it was a matter of perspective. Surely, nobody had entered the room while she was busy.
With a huff, she took out her phone and started chatting with her friends, until her father knocked on the door with the "lights out, phone out" motion. With a brief goodbye she turned out the light, stopping only to frown at the milk once more. She was sure the level in the glass had gone down once again. Or had it? There was an easy way to tell; seizing her lipstick she drew a quick line on the level. Then switched off the light and turned on her music player, lowering the level so her parents could not hear it. Just because there was no "music off" order did not mean that one could not be enforced all the same.
She had drifted off. The clock was showing 01:33. The music had long stopped playing. She took off the ear-buds and wondered why she had woken up. Normally she slept like a rock all through the night. Then she remembered about her plan. Ha. Yes. The milk. She turned on the light once more and looked down at the glass. All but an inch of milk was gone. Picking up the glass, she brought it closer to her face to better frown at it, inspecting it for lips traces. If her mom had gone in and drank from the glass, she would be sure to have left marks where her lips had touched the smooth surface. Unless she had used a straw. Which she must have done, as there was no greasy mouthy smear on the glass. Just a myriad of tiny little cut like marks, like teeth prints in gum. And one shaped like a tiny forget-me-not flower. Weird.
She put the glass back down slowly, trying not to smudge the patterns. That's when she heard it. The sigh. Very audible. Coming from under her bed. Seizing her torch with one hand she plunged, head first, ready to confront whoever or whatever was hidden there. The light beam shone through the dark space, showing nothing. Not even a dust bunny. But, hey, hang on...
It was just a denser shadow but it was trying too hard. With a humph she attacked, intending to seize the cat from its hiding place. Her free hand swept in, closed around a bundle of mated fur and pulled. The thing resisted, hissing. She pulled harder and it bit her. She let go, yelping, knocking the glass off on the way.
She sucked of her mauled finger, smothering curses about "Bloody Archie!", looking murderous at the spilled liquid. Not a lot of it and thank goodness the glass had not broken but who would have to clean up now? Who?
Shadows. That's who. As she stared, darkness started to spill from under her bed, a writhing mess of ragged fur, broken feathers, mould, claws, and spidery legs. It lapped at the milk until there wasn't a trace of dampness on the floor. Hyperventilating, she watched, transfixed until the creature turned to her and proffered a grin that had too many sharp angles to be ingratiating. It reached up to the cover, a single claw rasping against the satin. She screamed.
She screamed for ages, her eyes shut, until - gradually - sheer exhaustion brought her back to a vague semblance of sanity. Her mother was holding her tight, rocking her slightly, muttering sweet nothings as if she just had had a nightmare. But nightmares do not gnaw on your fingers.
"There was this thing!
- I know, dear, I know.
- I mean really. Here, under the bed.
- I know, dear, I know.
- It bit me?
- Did it? Ah, that's no good. Let me see."
Her mother looked preoccupied. Marybel held her hand for inspection, ready to demand reparation. Pitchforks would be a minimum. The thing had to be torched, no less. But her mom was just shaking her head, looking reassured somehow.
2That's okay, dear. The skin isn't broken. You might bruise but that should be all.
- What do you mean it's okay? There is a monster under my bed and it bit me and you say its' okay?
- Sure. Sure. Don't worry. It's all right. It did not taste your blood. Just make sure you give it plenty of milk and it will not bother you any more.
- You mean... that thing? That thing has been drinking my milk ever since I was a kid?
- Of course. Milk - and the odd crumbs of food - is the only thing that keeps it alive.
- But! But it mustn't be alive! It should die. Die! Now! No more milk.
- Now, now. That would be rash.
- Like hell, it would be rash! First, I am not sleeping in that room anymore.
- It doesn't matter dear.
- I'll sleep in the guest room.
- Whatever, dear. Just make sure it gets milk. Oh, yes.
- What do you mean, milk? I am not sleeping here anymore.
- It does not matter, dear. Any bed - or sofa for that matter - has its own monster.
- Any... That's it. I am moving in with Lou'.
- It would not change a thing. Or rather it would make it worse. I do believe you said Louelle was not allowed drinks or snacks into her room.
- Well obviously! She's not feeding a monster!
- She is feeding one. You don't want them to dehydrate or starve. Oh, no. that you don't.
- Why not?
- Because if they dry up, they become...
- ???
- Dust bunnies.
- Oh, come on! You and your blasted dust bunnies!
- There are no dust bunnies in this house and I am proud of it. This is the only way I can keep us all safe. You see... dust bunnies are craving life, moisture, flesh. If you do not offer it to them, they will take it. From you. Your blood is what they are after. Which is why I am glad your monster didn't hurt you too deeply. If it had had a taste of your blood, we might have had a problem feeding it milk again.
- I am so running away from here. I am so running away from here!
- No point, Marybel, dear. There is no point. Wherever you go, they'll always be waiting for you. In the shadows. Ready to feed.
- Can't you just... I don't know... Vacuum them?
- You could. And then? What will keep them away?
- Errr...
- Milk, girl. Milk! And I say we should get that creature of your another helping. Before it gets ideas in its fuzzy parched head of his..."
Meanwhile, I have been mauled by a little geriatric ghoul:
"Don't forget your milk, honey.
- But, Mom, I don't like milk. Never have.
- Never mind that. Take it up to your room all the same. Someone will drink it.
- Someone? Like Santa or some other creep? That's what you're saying?
- Someone. There is actually no telling who. Surely you must have noticed that it was being drunk..."
She was right. As much as Marybel wanted to see her mother wrong, there was no denying that fact. In the morning her glass of milk was always empty or thereabout. She'd thought this was due to the cat creeping into her room at night or to mice, even. She'd even tried to see if her parents weren't doing anything phony there, like trying to persuade her that Santa or the Tooth-fairy were real. As if! She'd googled them too long ago to give any credit to that line of thought.
"So what's it, then? Archie?
- Now, now; you know Archie isn't allowed upstairs. It's bad for your father's asthma.
- Then who? Or what? Dust bunnies?
- There are no dust bunnies in any of the rooms!
- Hey, no use shouting. I know you keep that place clean. I could eat from my bedroom floor. In fact, I 've been always surprised of how you let me bring snacks upstairs. Louelle isn't allowed to. Her mom won't let her. Says it brings in all sorts of creepers in. Worms. Spiders. Ants.
- Crumbs have their use. Just like milk. Be glad they exist and that they disappear. Be glad.
- Or else?2
Her mother just shrugged away, waving her up to bed without an answer.
Marybel shook her head, barely holding the glass of milk between two fingers. Her mom was just too weird. It must have been all that pot she must have smoked as a flower girl. Or other substances. Or maybe she read too many romances or fantasy books. Things with dark hooks and crannies, secret places, cursed cupboard and shadows full of mysteries. And sex. That she knew from borrowing a few of her mother's books. The filth in them! Nothing authorised by the Board of Education, that's for sure. Yet, always good for a giggle with Louelle. Maybe that was it. Just too many forbidden books. She'd been told how bad they were for someone's development.
Turning on the light, she placed the glass on the floor, right below her pillow. She could try and stay up and figure out who was drinking the milk. Probably her mother. Or some bug, hungry for more than just a few crumbs. Although it would have to be a big bug, come to think of it...
She shivered the thought away and went on about getting ready for the night, checking the batteries on her torch light on the way.
She sneaked into bed, frowning at the glass. It looked less full somehow. But maybe it was a matter of perspective. Surely, nobody had entered the room while she was busy.
With a huff, she took out her phone and started chatting with her friends, until her father knocked on the door with the "lights out, phone out" motion. With a brief goodbye she turned out the light, stopping only to frown at the milk once more. She was sure the level in the glass had gone down once again. Or had it? There was an easy way to tell; seizing her lipstick she drew a quick line on the level. Then switched off the light and turned on her music player, lowering the level so her parents could not hear it. Just because there was no "music off" order did not mean that one could not be enforced all the same.
She had drifted off. The clock was showing 01:33. The music had long stopped playing. She took off the ear-buds and wondered why she had woken up. Normally she slept like a rock all through the night. Then she remembered about her plan. Ha. Yes. The milk. She turned on the light once more and looked down at the glass. All but an inch of milk was gone. Picking up the glass, she brought it closer to her face to better frown at it, inspecting it for lips traces. If her mom had gone in and drank from the glass, she would be sure to have left marks where her lips had touched the smooth surface. Unless she had used a straw. Which she must have done, as there was no greasy mouthy smear on the glass. Just a myriad of tiny little cut like marks, like teeth prints in gum. And one shaped like a tiny forget-me-not flower. Weird.
She put the glass back down slowly, trying not to smudge the patterns. That's when she heard it. The sigh. Very audible. Coming from under her bed. Seizing her torch with one hand she plunged, head first, ready to confront whoever or whatever was hidden there. The light beam shone through the dark space, showing nothing. Not even a dust bunny. But, hey, hang on...
It was just a denser shadow but it was trying too hard. With a humph she attacked, intending to seize the cat from its hiding place. Her free hand swept in, closed around a bundle of mated fur and pulled. The thing resisted, hissing. She pulled harder and it bit her. She let go, yelping, knocking the glass off on the way.
She sucked of her mauled finger, smothering curses about "Bloody Archie!", looking murderous at the spilled liquid. Not a lot of it and thank goodness the glass had not broken but who would have to clean up now? Who?
Shadows. That's who. As she stared, darkness started to spill from under her bed, a writhing mess of ragged fur, broken feathers, mould, claws, and spidery legs. It lapped at the milk until there wasn't a trace of dampness on the floor. Hyperventilating, she watched, transfixed until the creature turned to her and proffered a grin that had too many sharp angles to be ingratiating. It reached up to the cover, a single claw rasping against the satin. She screamed.
She screamed for ages, her eyes shut, until - gradually - sheer exhaustion brought her back to a vague semblance of sanity. Her mother was holding her tight, rocking her slightly, muttering sweet nothings as if she just had had a nightmare. But nightmares do not gnaw on your fingers.
"There was this thing!
- I know, dear, I know.
- I mean really. Here, under the bed.
- I know, dear, I know.
- It bit me?
- Did it? Ah, that's no good. Let me see."
Her mother looked preoccupied. Marybel held her hand for inspection, ready to demand reparation. Pitchforks would be a minimum. The thing had to be torched, no less. But her mom was just shaking her head, looking reassured somehow.
2That's okay, dear. The skin isn't broken. You might bruise but that should be all.
- What do you mean it's okay? There is a monster under my bed and it bit me and you say its' okay?
- Sure. Sure. Don't worry. It's all right. It did not taste your blood. Just make sure you give it plenty of milk and it will not bother you any more.
- You mean... that thing? That thing has been drinking my milk ever since I was a kid?
- Of course. Milk - and the odd crumbs of food - is the only thing that keeps it alive.
- But! But it mustn't be alive! It should die. Die! Now! No more milk.
- Now, now. That would be rash.
- Like hell, it would be rash! First, I am not sleeping in that room anymore.
- It doesn't matter dear.
- I'll sleep in the guest room.
- Whatever, dear. Just make sure it gets milk. Oh, yes.
- What do you mean, milk? I am not sleeping here anymore.
- It does not matter, dear. Any bed - or sofa for that matter - has its own monster.
- Any... That's it. I am moving in with Lou'.
- It would not change a thing. Or rather it would make it worse. I do believe you said Louelle was not allowed drinks or snacks into her room.
- Well obviously! She's not feeding a monster!
- She is feeding one. You don't want them to dehydrate or starve. Oh, no. that you don't.
- Why not?
- Because if they dry up, they become...
- ???
- Dust bunnies.
- Oh, come on! You and your blasted dust bunnies!
- There are no dust bunnies in this house and I am proud of it. This is the only way I can keep us all safe. You see... dust bunnies are craving life, moisture, flesh. If you do not offer it to them, they will take it. From you. Your blood is what they are after. Which is why I am glad your monster didn't hurt you too deeply. If it had had a taste of your blood, we might have had a problem feeding it milk again.
- I am so running away from here. I am so running away from here!
- No point, Marybel, dear. There is no point. Wherever you go, they'll always be waiting for you. In the shadows. Ready to feed.
- Can't you just... I don't know... Vacuum them?
- You could. And then? What will keep them away?
- Errr...
- Milk, girl. Milk! And I say we should get that creature of your another helping. Before it gets ideas in its fuzzy parched head of his..."
Meanwhile, I have been mauled by a little geriatric ghoul:
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