Short Story for November 2004 |
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“Daddy, can the monsters get me?” Stacey Curtis lay huddled up beneath the blankets of her pink canopy bed. She had pulled the covers up so tightly around her neck that only her pudgy ten-year-old face was visible amidst a sea of soft fabric and plush pillows. Her father, Dr. James Curtis, sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down at her forlornly. “Well, Stacey, I could lie to you and make you feel better, but that would be wrong,” he reached down and began to stroke her bright red hair. “To be honest, the answer is yes, the monsters can get you.” Stacey gasped, her little face twisting up in fear. Her father shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “You see, I’m just a man. I may seem big and strong to you, but that’s because you’re just a kid. Compared to a monster, I’m very weak and very small,” he said, sensing his daughter’s escalating horror. “If a monster, say a zombie or a snake man, wanted to come and get you, there’s not very much I could do to stop him. I would probably just let him take you away to a cave and eat you, as long as he promised to leave your mother and I alone.” Stacey’s eyes were wide with terror, and Dr. Curtis could feel her trembling as he continued to smooth her hair. “Lucky for me, there weren’t very many monsters about when I was young. Oh sure, a vampire might occasionally swoop down from the trees and fly off with one of my chums, but not very often,” he said cheerily. “Nowadays, though, you’ve got mad scientists creating huge slimy creatures in their laboratories, and disgusting skin-eating monsters living in the sewers just waiting to crawl up through the toilet and suck out your eyes. There are monsters everywhere these days!” He gazed down at his daughter with a look of solemn astonishment. “Quite frankly,” he told her, “I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long, and I’m very proud of you.” By now Stacey had shifted her body so that it lay snugly against her father’s. She moved her arms underneath the blankets, trying to wrap them around his outstretched leg. “But Daddy,” she said tremulously. “Mrs. Jenkins said that monsters aren’t real. She said they’re just make believe.” “O-ho!” he cried. “She did, did she? Well, I shall call her first thing tomorrow morning and tell her to stop filling my little girl’s head full of lies! No such thing as monsters, she says! Indeed! And she calls herself a teacher.” He fumed. “There’s no use lying to spare your feelings, Stacey. Most of your classmates will not live to see the seventh grade, I’d wager, before they’re gobbled up by some monster or another.” He took his hand away from her head. It was damp with sweat. He started to get up. “No, Daddy!” Stacey screamed. “Don’t leave me!” Her skinny little arms clutched his leg in a death grip. Dr. Curtis tut-tutted sternly, grappling with his daughter’s arms under the blankets. “Come now, Stacey,” he said, straining against her and grunting a little in exertion. “You’re being a foolish little girl, and your father didn’t raise you to be a foolish girl.” “No, Daddy,” she cried again. Terrified tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. “The monsters, Daddy, the monsters!” He eventually managed to secure her arms, pinning them to her sides. He could feel her shivering through the covers, and a few beads of sweat were fat on her brow. “Now, this is my advice to you,” he said, tucking the blankets tightly between the mattress and the boxspring, pinning her down. “Stay under the covers and don’t get up. It’s a lot of work for the monsters to rip through all those blankets to get at you, so maybe they won’t bother.” He got up and walked towards the door. He paused with his hand hovering over the light switch. “Oh yes,” he said. “Your mother didn’t want me to tell you this, but you’re a big girl now and we can’t always be sheltering you from bad news.” He paused, making sure he had her full attention. “Your grandparents were eaten today.” Stacey whimpered. “By monsters.” Stacey moaned. “They were sucked dry like human juice boxes. The police think it was the work of a pack of giant mutant spiders.” Dr. Curtis turned off the light, shut the door, and locked it behind him. He turned and walked up to his wife, who was waiting halfway down the hall. “How did it go?” she whispered. “Smashing. She’s absolutely terrified. What on earth did you show her this afternoon?” “We started off with ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ and finished with ‘Waxwork’.” “Excellent choices, honey,” he said with admiration. He was so blessed to have a spouse who understood what he was trying to accomplish. “They certainly did the trick.” His wife beamed with pleasure. Dr. Curtis began to set up the fog machine as quietly as he could, gently slipping the nozzle underneath Stacey’s door. When he’d finished, he flashed his wife the thumbs up signal. “OK, all set,” he whispered. “Your brother is in the closet?” “Yes. He snuck in while she was brushing her teeth.” “Terrific. What’s he dressed as?” “Well, we just threw something together. Half bear, half dragon, half demon,” she said, ignoring the mathematical impossibility in her excitement. “Scares the hell out of me, anyway. He said just pound on the door and he’ll start raising Cain.” His heart was pounding. He leaned over and gave his wife a nervous kiss. “If all goes well, this’ll be the perfect ending to my book,” he said. Down the hall, in his study room, sat an unfinished manuscript. It was over five hundred pages long; the result of nine year’s dedicated labor. It was called “Shock Therapy: A No Nonsense Approach to Raising a Well Adjusted Child”. The final, as yet unfinished chapter was titled ‘An Unconventional Approach to Confronting Childhood Fears’. Dr. Curtis reached down and flicked the switch on the fog machine while his wife trembled in giddy expectation, the pride of self-sacrifice for the sake of sociological advancement swelling in his breast.
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