Message from under my bed

LiteraryLintMonster175x175I spent hours trying to find something to write that has nothing to do with my ‘novel’. Can you tell I am procrastinating?

“Writing Prompts!” I thought, and found this web site.

“When you were little, you could swear there was a monster under your bed–but no one believed you. On the eve of your 30th birthday, you hear noises coming from under your bed once again. The monster is back and has an important message to deliver to you.”

As an adult who still have monsters under my bed, I cannot resist this one :) so let’s see what I can concoct, shall we?

I come home late from a meeting. Throwing my clothes on a chair in the hallway I decide to go to bed right away. Tomorrow is my 30th birthday. Switching off the bedside lamp I snuggle in under the covers. Just before I am about to fall asleep I hear a sound I have not heard in twenty-five years. I stiffen, stifle my breath and listen. I pull the covers over my head, leaving a small gap to breathe through. A faint scratch. Small, sharp claws shuffling swiftly over the floor under my bed. A dry rustle. Small, clever paws shoving at old newspapers and paperbacks. My heart beats against the ribs in its cage. I widen the crack in the covers and peer out. Nothing but streaks of light and shadow born by the street lamps outside. A whispering chitter envelopes my bed, seeps into my brain. The scratch noises turn into shredding, the rustle becomes ripping, the chitter rises to a roar. Air tearing through my bedroom. Next nothing. Silence. The thudding of my heart, the breathing of my lungs and the rushing of blood in my veins batter my senses, but from without only quiet. My heart slows, my breathing deepens and my blood cools. I dare not take the covers from my head just yet. I listen. I hear nothing. A sigh of relief escapes me. I peek over the rim of my covers. My eyes sweep the room. I reach for the bedside lamp.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The voice is deep and distinct, like a bronze bell. I bolt upright in bed. Looking around in puzzled panic, I clench the covers to my chin. I blink in disbelief. There is a creature in the end of my bed. It is black, sleek, body and size of an average dog, with wings like a bat. It cocks its head to the side and smiles. A low rumble follows the smile.

“What are you?” I ask. My heart and stomach swap places frantically.

“Now, that is impolite.” It frowns. “Try again.”

I rack my brain. Impolite how?

“Who are you?”

“I am Brom.” The rumble increases. “I am your guardian gargoyle.” It smiles again, and bends to inspect a claw on one of its front paws.

“Guardian gargoyle?” Disbelief courses through me.

“Yes.” It blinks, abandons the claw and looks at me.

“I believed you were here to kill and eat me. That was what I heard from under my bed when I was a boy.” I shake my head, still not believing.

“I know. I was not alone under your bed when you were a boy. From now on I will be the only monster under your bed. Happy Birthday, Henric!” It flutters to the floor and disappears under the bed. I sit flabbergasted, no longer afraid. I chuckle. Imagine that! A guardian gargoyle under my bed. I grin.

“Good night, Brom!” I say and return to snuggle under the covers.


Filed under Writing, Writing Prompts

4 responses to “Message from under my bed

  1. I wouldn’t mind a guardgoyle under my bed… I just fear it doesn’t get much place there. :-D
    Besides, we do have a dog there often… tehehee :-)


  2. Yeah, as always you are right – though I believe the Guardgoyle keeps to himself in some alternate dimension which has a ‘gate’ under our bed. I like the images :D But the second one – needs bigger wings ;).


  3. Maria Angela Grow

    I must be wierd, but I never had monsters under my bed, in my closet or anywhere. I had my guardian angel, and other angels at times. When I was 4, I was looking out a window, and saw an angel go by. I told Mama, and just after that, the phone rang, and the hospital was calling Mama to tell her Uncle Emmet had died. I hadn’t even known he was dying. (Mama and I lived with her mother and brother, so we were all extremely close) Mama was grief stricken, but what I saw helped her. I was a very sensitive child and always rocked myself to sleep. Mama said I even rocked the crib across the room at times. And I have always enjoyed rockers, swings, gliders, and such, but no monsters.


  4. Pingback: Monster Digs | Literary Lint

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