Monsters Don’t Exist. Or Do They?

• Fariba Ahsan, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2022

It was here.
There wasn’t any warning, not a clue. I just knew. The thing-whatever it was- had been haunting me since I was eight. But every time I told someone about the little creep that was the source my insomnia, they just looked at me funny and told me to grow up. ‘Monsters don’t exist’. But what if they do? Or maybe I was just losing my sanity and needed major therapy.
'Little boy, oh, little boy. Let us play another game,' a low, chilling voice rang around the room.
A tiny whimper escaped from me as my night-light began to flicker on and off. At the age of fourteen, I was probably too old for one, but it was either that, or I was sleeping with my parents. Clutching my fuzzy, black blanket in a death grip, I wrapped it around myself creating the illusion that it was some sort of invincible barricade that would protect me. Horror clutched me and shook my body as all the shadows in my room merged together into a faintly humanoid shape pulsing with intense, malevolent energy. The familiar feeling of fear trailed across my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. My vision blurred with unshed tears. I just wanted to be left alone.
'Leave you alone? Now why would I do such a dastardly thing as that? After all, you do have some of the best reactions out of all my victims,' the voice stated sadistically.
My stomach kept on doing somersaults as the overwhelming odour of rotten flesh wafted through the air. It was sickening. My heart was caught in my throat as the sociopath stepped closer to me. Death didn’t scare me, but this monster? I’d rather go to hell than see it again. It cocked its head to its side. There was no face, but I could still feel its burning gaze see right through me. I held my breath. What was it going to do? The second the thought sprang into my mind, my body was flung into the air and thrown around the room as if I were a ragdoll. A hot, searing pain erupted through me from head to toe. Even my hair hurt.
‘AAAAAHHHHHH! GOD, I SWEAR ON DOBBY’S LIFE, IF YOU SAVE ME, I WILL CONFESS TO MY MOTHER THAT I WAS THE ONE WHO ACCIDENTALLY BUTCHERED HER LIMITED-EDITION PRADA BAG!’
‘NOAH LINCOLN OLSTEN, YOU DID WHAT!’ the door flew open as my mother stormed into the room in her fluffy white robe.
My body dropped to the ground in a mangled heap before her, ‘Mum! The monster, it’s here! It’s right behind-’ I turned around only to discover that the room was completely devoid of the evil entity. Not a single trace.
‘Oh, you and that stupid, non-existent monster!’ she glared at me. ‘How many times have I told you? Grow. Up.’ Her words were painful stabs to my heart. She didn’t believe me.
No one ever did.