Bedtime Stories by John Minser

“There’s a monster in my closet.” Jeremy pleaded, wide-eyed, with his mother. “Don’t turn out the lights.”

    Jeremy’s mother sighed.

    “Jeremy, honey, there’s no such things as monsters.”

    She stood up, exhausted, ready to tuck Jeremy in and go to bed herself.

    “But mommy,” Jeremy insisted, “I saw the monster in my closet.”

    Jeremy’s father was the sort of man who would be upset with his wife if she didn’t put the boy to bed and go promptly back to her room. He was a firm man, a man with needs. Jeremy’s mother paled slightly as she realized that this distraction was going to make her late.

    “Jeremy, there are no monsters in there. Here, let me show you.”

    She walked to the closet, noting Jeremy’s tenseness as she placed her hand on the sliding door’s handle. With a mother’s gentleness, she opened the closet. There were no monsters, just clothes and little boy’s shoes.

    “It’s not there right now,” Jeremy said, face buried in his blanket. “It’ll come back tonight when you’re gone and eat me up.”

    Jeremy’s mother smiled and sat next to her only son. She placed her warm arms around him.

    “Didn’t you know, monsters don’t like the taste of good little boys? If you’re good, no monster will want to eat you.”

    Jeremy poked his head out from beneath the covers.

    “Really?”

    “Really really.”

    Jeremy laughed his small laugh.

    “Thanks mommy. Goodnight.”

    “Good night, my love.”

    Jeremy’s mother turned out the lights.

    That evening, the Monster visited the household. Although police never did get very far into the investigation, most members of the force concluded that it was one of the most shocking crime scenes ever found. Oddly enough, Jeremy’s mother was correct about one thing: Monsters do not like the taste of good little boys. There was only a single bite taken out of Jeremy’s body, and most of that had been spat back onto the bed.