Welcome to the fourth chapter of Sunday Shorts, your weekly dose of fictional short stories written by yours truly. If you missed the others, you can read the archives here. This story comes from a Reddit prompt: At bedtime, your daughter asks you to check for monsters under the bed. You bend down and look to find an actual monster that’s been hiding in fear from your rambunctious little girl.
A quick note: My apologies for the late story. It was a wildly busy weekend of filling orders of smoked meats and spending Easter with my family. Back at it with this upcoming Sunday with a Sunday Shorts first: the first of a three-part series that has yet to be named. Have a great week, y’all!
My sweet daughter sat in her bed kicking off the covers and asking for her third story of the night. No matter how much I played with this kid, she had an endless supply of energy.
“It’s time for bed, little girl,” I told her.
“But, Daddy, I’m not tired,” she said, kicking her legs pretending to run faster than all of her friends.
“You need to go to bed. Busy day tomorrow. You can stay up as late as you want this weekend.”
I bent down and kissed her forehead.
“Okay, Daddy, but can you check for monsters?”
“My little girl, you know there’s no such thing as monsters. Why don’t you tell your stuffed animals a story until you all fall asleep.”
“Okay, Daddy, but can you check just to be sure?
I don’t know where her recent obsession with monsters came from, but I agreed to do my fatherly duty. I bent down to the carpeted floor—a pain shooting up my spine—and peeked underneath her bed. To my horror, a set of wide eyes stared back at me: bloodshot with enlarged brown pupils. I watched as a hand rose and pressed a finger against the shadowy figure’s lips. With a whisper, it said, “Don’t let her know I’m down here.” I wanted to yell, but my throat tightened, too paralyzed by fear. Then I heard Emily’s voice.
“Daddy, did you find any monsters?”
The shadowy figure shook its head no.
“No….no, little girl, nothing here.”
The eyes quivered as I stood up, as if pleading for me not to go.
“Before you go to sleep,” I said, kneeling at her bedside, “can you go ask Mom if he put your homework in your backpack?”
“Sure thing, Daddy!”
She was out of the room before finishing her sentence.
With Emily gone, I knelt down back under the bed and was met by the same quivering eyes. This time a voice followed.
“You have to help me,” it said.
It must have sensed my confusion.
“Your daughter is a monster.”
My daughter? Sweet Emily, the nicest, most caring girl I’d ever met?
“I can’t do this anymore. I have a family, too. I have to get home.”
My Emily?
“Can you help me?”
My daughter, who just last week asked me to carry a spider outside so it wouldn’t die of hunger?
“Get me out of here before she comes back.”
I heard it inch closer.
“Hold on a minute,” I finally said. “You mean to tell me that my Emily, the little girl who was just in here, is a monster?”
“Yes, the little one who wants you to read endless stories every night.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She’s kept me trapped in her closet for months underneath her pile of princess dresses you never make her hang.”
He made a good point about the dresses, but my daughter…a monster?
“Riiiiight….like I’m supposed to believe that.”
I about had enough and stood up and turned on the light. The creature—whatever it was—crawled out from under her bed. It looked like a yeti with his snow-white fur and tan bare belly. It had abnormally large feet for something that wasn’t any taller than a teddy bear. It climbed up the footboard and stood at the edge of the bed.
“Hurry up, she’ll be back any second!” it demanded.
“Hold up a minute. You mean to tell me my daughter, my Emily, has kept you locked in her closet and what—tortures you?”
“For goodness sakes, yes, man—how many times must I tell you? She dresses me up, makes me play tea party with all her stuffed animals. Just the other night she was throwing me up in the air and I hit the fan and was nearly knocked unconscious! Have you raised your kid to have no decency?!”
“Whoa, listen here, I don’t quite understand what’s going on here, but if you want my help, don’t go insulting my parenting skills.”
“Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I just—I just really need to get home. My wife and kids must be sick. I haven’t seen them in three weeks.”
“Get home?”
“Yeah, the mall. The discount bin at Ms. Doodles Play Pen. I fell out one day and your kid snatched me up. I screamed for her to let me go, but none of you heard me. She just laughed.”
It all came flooding back to me now. I remember seeing this thing—this…what I thought was a stuffed animal—in the back of the car. Emily said she got it from a friend and that this new friend she called Teddy was now her favoritest toy. Then it just disappeared. She didn’t make much of a fuss about it so I’d forgotten all about it.
“Wait, you live at the mall?”
“Temporarily. We’re relocating back up north—back to the snow and cold winters and away from this blasted heat you have here in Texas.”
Was this really happening?
“Okayyyy…so what do you need from me?”
“Just need you to open the front door, I’ll take it from there. It’s not the first time I’ve been lost. I’ve developed a great sense of finding my way back home.”
“I’ll take your word for it, I guess.”
Just then racing footsteps turned the corner and were coming straight for the room.
“Quick, back under the bed,” I said.
“No, I can’t go back under there. I won’t stay here any longer. Look, man, I don’t want to hurt your daughter but I’m running out of options here.”
“Okay, okay. Get back under real quick and I’ll figure out a way to get you out.”
“You better not be lying to me, man.”
“I promise.”
Emily ran back into the room, hyper as ever—at 10 o’clock…on a school night…with this monster under her bed…that was accusing her of being the monster…
This had to be a joke.
“Mommy said my homework is in my backpack. Can I go to bed now, Daddy? I want to read Teddy a nighttime story.”
I could have sworn I heard a gasp come from under the bed.
“Why don’t you go potty real quick and then you can read Teddy one story and then go to sleep.”
“Okay, Daddy!”
She raced out of the room and slammed her bathroom door. I grabbed her dirty clothes basket out of her closet and bent down to the floor.
“If you want to get out, now is your chance,” I said.
He crawled out from under the bed and into the basket. I covered him with her dresses and walked out of the room. I opened the front door and walked into a cool evening breeze, a full moon lighting the sky.
“You don’t know how much I appreciate this, man,” he said stepping out of the dirty clothes.
“Don’t mention it.”
He reached out his furry hand.
“What’s your name anyway?” he asked.
“Mike. What about you?”
“Beebo. Nice to meet you, Mike. If you’re ever up north, look me up.”
“Sure thing, Beebo. Have a safe journey home. Sorry about my kid.”
“All good, Mike. She’s a nightmare, but she ain’t got nothing on my son.”
With that, I watched him disappear into a storm drain.
I stood there for a moment in the brisk night air. I was certain I was dreaming.
But when I walked inside, Emily stood outside her room, “Daddy, have you seen my Teddy?”
About This Story
Oh, how I love this prompt: At bedtime, your daughter asks you to check for monsters under the bed. You bend down and look to find an actual monster that’s been hiding in fear from your rambunctious little girl. Sometimes I feel as if my oldest is a monster at times with her sassy, know-it-all attitude (love you, Emery!), so of course I had to write about it.
Credits this week: My Daughter – The Monster? was written by me, Matt Keyser. The podcast was also read and produced by me; music and sounds courtesy of freesound.org.
Be sure to follow Sunday Shorts on Instagram for behind-the-scenes looks at how Sunday Shorts is made and previews to upcoming stories.
Must Reads
Your Face Is Not Your Own: This in-depth read about Clearview AI, a company that built facial recognition software the New York Times Magazine describes as blowing “the future of privacy in America wide open, is both shocking and scary. The software has been described as a Shazam for people. And it begs the question, what happens when our faces are tracked wherever we go?
The Chosen One: For those who know me know that Gary Smith is my all-time favorite writer. And often in these must-reads, you’ll see I’ll offer the frequent Gary Smith story…because they’re so damn good. I recently went back and finished this on an up-and-coming golfer known as Tiger Woods (maybe you’ve heard of him?). In 1996, at the start of his career, Smith spoke with Tiger, his father, and those close to him and gives the most in-depth glimpse into the man that his father, Earl, said would “transcend the game” and bring the world “a humanitarianism which has never been known before.” It’s a great read even for its time, but now more so given we know how Tiger’s career has played out. (And speaking of Tiger, this profile in ESPN by Wright Thompson is a great read.)
ICYMI
An excerpt from last week’s Sunday Short:
While Lori never showed any signs she was upset about her father’s ultimatum, I knew deep down she had to be. I mean it was five million dollars for chrissakes. So I decided I’d force Charles to give us the money—without him ever having a clue.
Read Ransom.
Thank you for reading this chapter of Sunday Shorts. I’ll catch y’all next week with a new short story.
Cheers!
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