In the deep, dark depths of night the monsters hide. In the corners beyond the murky shadows and the dismal place from under my bed, I know they lay, waiting … waiting.
My name is Sophie Brown, I am three-years-old and I believe — no, I know — there are fabled creatures existing in my bedroom.
If you come upon these records, I very well may be gone.
Obliterated by the heinous beings I fear so greatly at this time.
It all began a few weeks ago, when I came to the realization that in times of darkness, this place I am forced to call my bedroom becomes increasingly daunting. And now even as I lay here tonight I can feel the unnatural dash of monster skulking in every corner of this place.
It started with a strange sound I could not identify.
I remember Mama once telling me that it was just the natural sounds that a house makes.
But obviously this was just a pitiable attempt at subduing my fright.
Clearly her lame efforts have failed.
Currently I have recognized a slight movement on the floor beneath me. The dim light from the hallway provides me just enough sight to see the shadows coursing indignantly over my blue carpet and up along my pink walls.
I cannot be sure where those shadows originated from.
Possibly my closet where the dress-up clothes live or the end of the bed where I sometimes look at picture books. Whatever the case, these shades are nothing like Shadow-Friend who follows me around in the sunshine time.
What could it be? Panic overcomes and I call in a mad screech for Mama. She is sleeping soundly in the next room. I call again.
She stumbles groggily into my bedroom.
Her sleep-deprived attitude provides no comfort, since if there is something loitering ravenously in my room, she will clearly be of no assistance in this detrimental time.
It is now I realize I need Daddy. He is strong and will no doubt eradicate any beast that comes near me.
I immediately fine-tune my plea for help, once coming to this unfortunate comprehension.
Mama “shushes” me and then says that he is sleeping and that “you should go back to sleep too!”
And quite frankly the woman uses a condescending tone that I find rather offensive in these such dire circumstances.
‘This is an eat or be eaten kind of time, woman. Don’t you tell me to go to sleep! Who in their right mind could sleep at a moment like this?’ I think of saying, but decide better of it because in the end, I suppose she being here is better than solitude.
I again voice my concern for the monsters I suspect to be living in my closet and surrounding area.
The creature who is currently waiting to pounce from under the bed and the eyes that stare at me when the lights get turned off.
She ignores my cries of concern! She gets angry at me for waking her up! She dismisses each warning about these ghastly creatures I try to give her!
Stupid, silly, ignorant woman. This will be her greatest blunder once the monsters decide to rear their ugly heads.
I begin to shriek insistently. I am not proud of my performance but it is the only way I can grab her stilted attention at this time.
Finally she stomps her way over to my pink princess lamp and turns it on, while saying, “There are you happy?” In a not-so-happy tone.
I again try to explain my plight but to no avail, she is already making her dreary way back to her own room.
I make a mental note to myself that Mama will be of absolutely no assistance when the dreaded day of the monsters attack does come.
I will have to defend myself and try to get Daddy in on the state of affairs.
That is as long as Mama has not tainted him of his ability to believe in these horrid beasts.
I cannot worry about that now though.
Tonight the bedside lamp provides solace, enough in fact that sleep may come easily as I feel the heavy weight of the Sandman upon my brow.
Tomorrow, in the security of daylight I will summon every ounce of bravery I have and begin my search for the beast under the bed.
I just hope it will not be too late.
Lindsay Brown is a Sylvan Lake mother of two and freelance columnist.