The monster under the bed
Four-year-old Ben knows there’s a monster under his bed. He hasn’t had the courage to look yet, but he’s sure it’s there. And he’s sure it’s hungry. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately because he can hear its snorts and stomach gurgles during the night.
All he wants to do is lie on the couch and close his eyes while Sesame Street plays in the background, but his nanny wants him to get dressed.
“C’mon, Ben, let’s pick out a shirt and some pants. We’re going to the park.”
Ben closes his eyes tight. He hates the park where all the kids from his preschool go to play. He’s smaller and skinnier than they are, and he spends most of his time trying to recover stolen toys.
“Ben, you know I can see you, right?”
His eyes flutter open, and he takes in the face looming over him. It is pale, young, freckled, and plump. It is also new. Porter has been minding him for just three days. Before her, there was Olivia, two Marias, and Hua Ling. They always apologize when they leave, muttering something about his mother.
“Ben? It’s time to get dressed.”
Porter clicks the remote control, and Sesame Street is gone. The room is quiet now. Lonely. Ben reluctantly follows Porter into his bedroom, giving the bed itself a wide berth. He’s worried that Porter is standing so close to it. The monster could reach out and grab her ankles.
“Green shirt and jeans, or red shirt and khakis?”
“Green shirt.”
Ben gets dressed while Porter sits on his bed and texts on her magical phone. He loves playing games on it while she makes his sandwiches. Her feet are right where the monster’s head should be. He thinks he can hear it running its long, raspy tongue along its fangs. He doesn’t know Porter well, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear her screaming as the monster sinks its teeth into her soft, pale flesh.
“Get off my bed!” he yelps, unable to restrain himself.
Porter’s sigh is equal parts sympathy and exasperation. “We’ve talked about this, sweetie. There is no monster under your bed.”
Porter is making lunch when Ben hears the soft growls of his monster, echoing through the hallway.
“Do you hear that?” he asks.
“No, sweetie,” says Porter, spreading organic mustard on a slice of sprouted bread. Of course she doesn’t, thinks Ben. She has white buds in her ears. He watches her sway rhythmically as she assembles enough horribly healthy sandwiches to feed him and the dreadful Hancock twins and their au pairs, who are on their way over for a play date.
Ben grabs several slices of the gross, nutty bread, puts it on a yellow plastic plate, and runs to his room. He’s not sure if the monster will eat it, but he thinks it’s worth a try. When he opens his door, the growling stops abruptly. He can feel the monster watching him with hot, hungry eyes.
He bends down slowly, murmuring it’s OK it’s OK, and slides the plate across the floor. Then he scurries back to the kitchen. Porter is buzzing the Hancock twins and their wranglers into the building. The twins, boisterous, red-haired girls, explode into kitchen. They are followed by two slender, blond women with legs like reeds. Porter greets them with a bored smile and shoos the children into the playroom.
While the two girls fight over the X-box and prime space on the giant, avocado couch, Ben makes himself small and gray like a mouse. It’s a simple trick that causes eyes to slide over him without actually seeing him. It works on everyone except for Mother.
While the girls compete for Strawberry Shortcake accessories, Ben works on a puzzle. It’s a complicated rain forest scene that reveals itself piece by piece. By the time Porter calls them for lunch, Ben has found a jaguar and a quetzal. He eats quietly, still cocooned in his gray haze. No one, not even Porter, asks him a single question.
As soon as the twins and their keepers leave, he runs back to his room. The yellow plastic plate is empty, except for a coating of healthy brown crumbs.
Ben stands on a step stool, brushing his teeth, while Porter fills his bath. Unlike most children his age, he is a meticulous brusher, attacking his teeth from all angles.
“Ben, sweetie, are you done yet?”
He rinses and spits. “Another thirty seconds. The dentist said I’m supposed to brush for two minutes.”
Porter sighs. “Thirty seconds and then you’re done. Your bath water is going to get cold.”
When Ben climbs into the bathtub, the water is already lukewarm, but he plays with his boats until Porter tells him to stop. All he wants is to extend his evening routine for as long as possible. He brought the empty yellow plate to the kitchen and put it in the dishwater. But the memory of it makes his stomach squirm. The monster is real.
After his bath, he insists Porter read him stories on the living room couch. After eight long books, including One Fish, Two Fish and Cat in the Hat, Porter sneaks glances at her phone. Ben knows she wants him to fall asleep, so she can go upstairs to her own apartment.
“Ben, honey, it’s after eight. It’s sleepy time.”
“Can Mother tuck me in?”
Porter frowns and does something on her phone. “No, sweetie, your mother is working tonight. But I’ll give you extra snuggles.”
Ben shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be alone at night with the monster. It will get hungry, and it will eat him. And then he will not exist. No, no, no.
“No!”
Porter flinches, and Ben feels bad. But she doesn’t believe in his monster, so she can’t make it go away. The only one who can do that is Mother.
“No! No! No! No!”
Ben howls while Porter moves slowly away, staring at her phone. Like magic, his mother appears in the living room, as tall and upright as a queen. She dismisses Porter with a curt nod. “You can go.”
And then she trains her dark, fathomless eyes on Ben. He feels immediately safe and only a little afraid. “Young man, what is the problem here?”
“The monster under my bed.”
His mother takes his hand and pulls him to the bedroom. “Show me.”
Ben takes a long, shuddering breath. He’s afraid to look at the monster, to attach an image to his fear. But Mother is here, so he has to do it. He gets on his knees, pulls up the bedspread, and calls to it.
“Monster! You can come out now!”
What slithers out from beneath his bed is both reptilian and wolfish. The body is a long tube with small, stubby legs covered in iridescent scales. The head is hairy and doglike with a narrow snout and white canines that peek out from a pink muzzle. His mother smiles slightly and starts scratching between its floppy ears. It makes a soft, purring sound and gradually dissolves into the air, finally disappearing with a faint mewl.
His mother shakes her head. “We’ve talked about this before. No pets. You’re too young. They don’t come out right.”
Ben climbs into bed glumly. “Yes, ma’am.”
She kisses his forehead and turns out the light. Ben closes his eyes and dreams of a leopard-spotted kitten with bat’s wings.
Ben at age eight
Ben at age eleven
Ben at age sixteen
