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"Dad, dad! There's a monster in my closet!"

His eyes flung open, startled, having almost drifted off to sleep. But he heard his boy calling, and he knew he was needed. "But every single night?", sighed the father. "Why do I have to kill the same damn monster every single freaking night??"

As he opened the door and turned on the hallway light, his son was halfway under the covers, the blanket pulled over his face, with only his round frightened eyes peeping over the comforter. Seeing his father, he visibly relaxed and pulled down the sheets, revealing such a relieved and sweet smile, that the father once again remembered why he played this game, night in, night out. Just to see my son smile; I would do anything.

"Dad, I think the monster in the closet is trying to get out again."

"Really? Didn't I tell it last night it was to not bother you anymore?"

"Yeah, but I don't think it listens. It's a bad monster."

"Yes," agreed the father, "Bad monster indeed. I think I'll have to teach it a lesson."

With that, the father took two swift strides to the side of the closet, and thrusted the sliding door to one side. "Ah ha!" chortled the triumphant father. "With my powers of Beeboo, monster be gone!"

The kid smiled, beaming with glee and pride, knowing that his father had once again saved him from the bad monster. In fact, the monster was so afraid of the "powers of BeeBoo", that each time his dad opened the door, it would run away.

"Son," said dad. "I'm going to buy you a bell. Each time you get scared, just ring it, and if I don't come and rescue you, the bell will scare away anything bad. Okay?"

"Okay, daddy. Fanx. I love you." answered the kid.

"Me too kiddo," said the father, ruffling his kid's hair. "Now sleep. The monster won't be back."

The next day, the father took an hour off work, hunting for a bell. Finally, reaching a second hand/surplus store, he found one. An old style bell found in hotels, where you'd press the top with your hand to ring it to bring to attention of the concierge. "Not many shops uses these anymore. Cool. This will do nicely."

The father was happy with his purchase. Maybe it'll finally bring this "monster in the closet" business to an end once and for all.

That night, while tucking his kid into bed, the father showed him how to use the bell. "Lookit, kiddo. Just press the bell and I'll come running. But if I don't, press it again, and the monster will be scared off too. Remember, once for me, twice to scare off monster. Got it?"

"Yup." said the kid hessitantly. "Dad, will it really work?"

"Of course" answered the father confidently. "Because I've instilled the powers of Beeboo into the bell. That means when the monster hears two rings, he'll run for it, never to bother you again. Goodnight."

As soon as he closed the door to the kid's room, the bell rang. He opened the door. "What is it?"

"Notfing," shrugged the kid, eyes twinkling. "You forgot to give me a goodnight kiss."

"Oh," grinned the father sheepishly, leaning over and kissing him. "MMmmmm-ah. There, now goodnight."

"Night."

For the first time in a long while, the father could sleep without having to wake up. What bliss.

Next day, while sitting at work, the phone rang. He picked it up, it was the school. Something happened to his son, and he was to rush to the hospital right away. Slamming down the phone, he quickly told his cubicle mate that his son was in the hospital and he was leaving early. Grabbing his coat, he tore out of the building, towards his car.

When he got to the hospital, there was a doctor and the school's vice principal waiting just outside of the room. "What the hell happened? How's my son?"

The doctor spoke. "We did everything possible. We tried to recessitate him."..... the words then became garbled, catching sniplets like "head trauma", "hit and run", "internal hemorrhaging", and "no pulse on arrival."

The father stood for a brief second, back against the wall, then in one quick motion, slid onto the floor. He sat there, looking up, completely dumbfounded. Mouth moving but no words sounded. His lips quivered, his mind trying to wrap around the words he just heard. "No, this can't be. Not my son. Not my kid! NO!"

The next thing he knew, he was being helped up to his feet by the doctor, principal, and a nurse passing by. They were all asking him if he was all right. "Bloody hell. What a stupid thing to ask. My son just died from a jackass who ran a redlight. How can you even have the balls to ask if I'm all right?"

He stood up on his own, pushing the people away. He fought his way into the room. The doctor tried to warn him, but he was already inside. He saw his son's tiny foot sticking out of the bed sheet, mangled and bent in the most unnatural angle. His stomach lurched, and he heaved out his lunch. "This is too much, this is f-ing too much. My son, my poor, poor son."

He reminded himself that this was just a body, that his perfect little boy had gone to Heaven. Yet, he just had to see his child's angelic face one last time. The slight echo of the doctor's words "head trauma" pulsated faintly, but he ignored it. When he lifted back the sheet, the face was no longer recognizable. It was a pulp of red mess. He didn't flinch, nor did he retch. Instead he gently stroked his son's hair, and started crying. That was all he could do, stroke his blood soaked hair, and cry. He didn't move, he didn't sit, he just stood, crying and shaking his head.

That night, exhausted, the man laid in his bed. Too hurt to be tired, too tired to feel the ache in his heart. He stared at the ceiling, trying to both accept and deny what had happened just 5 hrs earlier. He wanted to cry still, but the tears no longer came. He was too spent to even produce tears. He wanted to die, thinking of perversed ways to end his life and join his son. There was nothing to live for, no one to care about. His life was meaningless now, why go on?

As he once more brought up the mental picture of his son smiling each time they did anything together, he heard a ding. Faintly at first, he thought that he was so exhausted, his mind was playing tricks on him. But as he shook his woolen feeling head, the ding had become a little more louder, more clearer, more instistant. Ding. Ding. Ding.

"What the....", thought the man. "This is crazy. I really must be hearing things."

He stilled his body and his breath. For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing but silence. When he was sure that everything he's heard was imagined, he even almost smiled, chiding himself for being so stupid.

*D I N G*

The bell! The bell he had bought him. It rang. No!

He sprung up, and ripped the covers off. NO! My God, NO!

He raced out bed and ran to his son's room. The door was closed. He must have closed it when he got home earlier tonight. He listened. Silence. Nothing. Nudda. Zilcho.

*D I N G*

The unmistakeable sound of the bell rang. It was coming from the inside of the child's room. *D I N G*. One ring to call him, two to ward off the monster. NO! "I'm coming baby. Daddy will make it better." What was he saying? His son was dead, but he heard the bell! Ding

He opened the door, half-expecting to see his son in bed, the covers pulled up to his eyes, ringing the bell. But he wasn't there. In fact there was nothing, nothing but a neatly made, empty bed.

His eyes darted to the closet. Still closed. "The monster.... "

As if from a horror movie, the closet door slowly slid open. The father stood there, transfixed, terrified, his legs shaking. He wanted to run and scream; wanting to verbally deny what he was seeing with his own two eyes. "This can't be...." But the door kept sliding, revealing a dark crack, getting bigger at each frightening second.

Finally the door stopped sliding, and out came a shape of a child, half-crawled, half limped from the inside of the closet. The father was so scared that he pissed his pants, his mind screaming run, but his legs didn't respond.

The mess of blood and bone looked up, pointing to the father...."Dad, I rang the bell so many times, and you never came for me. Now it's too late...."

.....scary, no?





posted by losir at 6:53 AM