The Monster Under My Bed Isn’t Real

I sat straighter in my seat, cold sweat prickling on the back of my neck. I focused on the ever-dwindling stack of papers as the teacher made her way down the rows of desks. My stomach twisted tighter with each groan heard from students who did not reach their desired scores. As the teacher neared my desk, I could taste the bile in the back of my throat threatening to come up. I raised my eyes to meet the wise woman’s gaze and found a grin. “Congratulations”, her lips read, and I allowed the tension in my body to loosen ever so slightly. She handed me the paper, which I gingerly took into my hands and flipped it over to reveal the score. My heart instantly sank upon reading the bold numbers at the top of the page. Turning the paper back over I hid my face behind a curtain of hair so no one could see how pale my skin had gone. I spent the remainder of class taking deep breaths, willing my lunch to stay in my stomach. As soon as the bell rang I made a bee line for the nearest bathroom. My skin became clammy, I knew I didn’t have much more time. I burst into the nearest stall, trying to hide my face from the other girls in the room, and then let out all the contents of my belly into the porcelain bowl. I could hear whispers all around me, some wondering if I was sick, others calling me anorexic. I hid in the stall until I could hear no more voices, then I stumbled toward one of the sinks to wash the taste of vomit out of my mouth.

I remained in a daze the rest of the way home, not wanting to think about what was coming. As I neared my home, I wished for some excuse that could prolong my return and subsequent punishment. I tugged at my hair nervously as I wondered what it would be this time. My feet began to feel like lead as I stepped onto the street my house stood on, and as I trudged closer the overwhelming aura of dread clung to my whole body. My flight response was screaming at me to run, but I stubbornly forced myself onward. Before I could reach the doorknob, my mother opened the door wide, smile dazzling in the afternoon sun. “I was informed that your test score came back and that I should be proud of you! Top score of your whole class, isn’t that wonderful!” She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that’s ageless. In many ways, she was perfect. The woman who gave birth to me showered me in praise, and for a moment I almost allowed myself to believe I was safe. Almost. My mother pulled me into a tight hug as she closed the door behind me. No escape. My stomach churned as I heard her voice drop in pitch, whispering in my ear, “And what was that score now?” I swallowed hard, trying to will my racing heart to slow. “9……95,” I choked out. Her voice continued, filling me with dread, “And is that good enough for you? Are you satisfied with being better than those nobodies in your class?” Tears prickled at my eyes as I replied, “No mother, I’m not satisfied with that score, I need to try harder.” She stepped back, caressed my face, gave me a light pat, and said, “That’s right, you’re so much better than that. You will do better next time. Why is that?” My lip trembled as I held back the sob trying to escape. I steeled myself and hid behind my hair. “Because…anything less than perfection…is worthless.” The hand on my face moved to my chin as she lifted my gaze to hers. The fury behind her expression was barely camouflaged as she stared me down. “That’s right my Darling. Now, to be sure you learn that lesson…” I watched as her eyes moved from mine to my hair spilling over my shoulder. “…consequences must be endured.” Dread turned to hysteria as her hand snatched my hair, pulling me to the ground beneath her. “Your teacher tells me you often hide your face behind all this hair. Darling, don’t you know that’s bad for your complexion? We want everyone to see that pretty face, isn’t that right?” I looked up and she had pulled out a pair of sharp scissors from somewhere. Struggling, I pleaded with her, promising to do better. But she was stronger, and taller, and whatever mother said…was law. As I watched the first clump of hair fall to the floor, all my strength left me, and I sat helpless while my tresses were mutilated. All the while, my mother scolded me. Because anything less than perfection…is worthless.



I laid in bed recalling the afternoon. The salon lady had exclaimed, “Tada!”, after she “fixed” the disaster that was my hair. “It’s so unfortunate that you got gum stuck in your hair! Your mother told me all about it, it was so pretty! What a shame”, she went on as she flipped through the photos in my mother’s phone. I didn’t respond, staring into the mirror at my shorn head. She had called it a “pixie cut”, trying to make it cuter. I didn’t care if it was cute or ugly, I just wanted to hide behind my hair again. Then my mother had chimed in, “Thank you so much for fixing it, I made quite a mess cutting it out at home. I should have come straight here! Isn’t that right, Darling?” I flinched ever so slightly when she addressed me, nodding my head. I caught a glimpse of her disapproving expression in the mirror and quickly squeaked out, “Yes ma’am, thank you very much.”

As soon as we got home and I was excused, I ran up to my room to sob into my pillows. Once I had shed all my tears I laid there, puffy eyes staring up at the ceiling. My body felt heavy with exhaustion, but I was still wide awake with anxiety. I closed my eyes and took deep, slow breaths and stretched my arms out across the bed. As my right hand neared the edge, I felt it brush against something cool and clammy. A moment later my hand and wrist were enveloped by the sensation. I opened my eyes as my head turned toward the figure holding my hand, meeting the four-eyed creature’s gaze. Their skin was a deep green, scaley and cold. Instead of hair, tentacle like tendrils hung from their head, spilling out onto the bed. Long, lanky arms stretched knobby fingers out towards me, one holding my hand gently as yellow eyes with orange flecks stared back at me. “Hello Rast”, I whispered, feeling the familiar hand around mine tighten.

Rast lifted their free hand to caress my face, fingers cool as they passed over my red eyes and up to my shorn hair as they looked on with pity in their many eyes. Fresh tears prickled and I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. Rast began to pet and scratch through what was left of my hair, soothing my anxiety from the day as the tension in my muscles slowly released. I rested my head against the hand still holding my hand and sighed. I began to tell Rast about what happened, whispering quietly so my mother wouldn’t hear me. I told them about my test score and how proud my teacher was that it was higher than anyone else’s. I recalled the nights of staying up to study leading up to the test, often falling asleep at my books. We chuckled together before I went on, my voice cracking as I replayed the scene earlier in the day. Tears once again rolled down my face as I clutched at Rast’s arm. My dear friend continued to comfort me as cried so hard I exhausted myself. As I drifted to sleep, I imagined a life where my mother was different, more loving and willing to accept me. Sometimes I pictured a world in which Rast was my mother, though I’m not entirely sure if they’re female or something else. It didn’t matter to me, as long as I was loved.

In the morning I awoke alone, tears crystallized in the corners of my eyes. Loneliness gripped my chest as I went about my morning routine. Occasionally I’d glance towards the underside of my bed, hoping that my friend would return to comfort me. But the only other presence in the house was my mother getting prepared for work. And really, that’s how it has always been, just the two of us.

Because, the monster who lives under my bed? Rast…Rast isn’t real, and I know that...but I wish…I wish they were.