There was a monster who lived in my closet. He (it was a he, trust me on that, don't ask why) lived there for as long as I can remember. I do not know where he came from, nor do I know where he went when morning came. I just know, for as long as I remembered, he lived in my closet.
He told me that I was beautiful (being a boy, I was a bit shocked) he said I looked like my mother. He asked me to come into the closet. He said there was something beautiful in there, a place made of dreams.
Even as a child, I wasn’t stupid. I knew what was in there, and I wanted no part of it. I asked my mom to check my closet before I slept. My mom, fearless, walked into the closet and shut the door. For what seemed like an eternity she stayed inside, until she came out. She laughed and said, “Quite the monster you have in there.” She pulled out a teddy bear from my infancy. I laughed too.
That night, the monster held his tongue.
Sadly, the nights of good sleep were short lived. Soon after my mother started “checking for monsters”, as she put it, she gave birth to my dear sister.
She was my precious sister; she was also a plague on my family. I loved her so much.
As soon as she was born, my father had her thoroughly examined. He told me it was for her health; he was a loving father. Her results came back pretty soon, she had Type A blood. My parents and I were all O, so you could say my sister was special. Her blood type was important to my father. My father was a biology teacher, his forte was genetics. Her blood type was very important to her Father.
My father went away more for the University, and my mother stayed at home with my sister and I. My sister was incredibly well behaved, except for her nightly exertions. Without fail, at night she would bawl, and nothing could console her
My mother was no better. If yelling at kid is unattractive, I want you to imagine what yelling at a baby looks like. My mother, beautiful and kind, turned into some kind of monster when my sister wept. Her face twisted in some hideous way that is hard to describe. I laid in bed listening to the chorus of my sister’s cries accompanied by my mother’s shouts.
Even if my sister had remained silent, I doubt I would have slept much better. Even with my mother’s nightly “check for monsters”, the monster had begun to speak again. He wasn't quite as creepy as before. I am not sure what happened to him, but he seemed genuinely concerned for my sister.
One night, when I was sure my sister was going to cry herself to death, the monster spoke: “Have you no sympathy boy? Your sister sounds as if she will die.”
I was tired, and frankly lectures from monsters are rarely enjoyable: “What do you care? You are just some slimy worm living in the closet of MY house. If you don’t like the crying, then leave.”
The monsters breathed quietly for a moment, and said, “I am not entirely uninvolved, nor am I entirely free of blame, so I cannot leave before I am sure things are set.”
I was confused, “What does that even mean?” The monster groaned, “Child, if you do not understand, then I pray that you never do. I shall reveal to you some secrets. Your parents can never love you sister. Your father sees her as an abomination, and your mother blames your sister for your parent’s failed union.”
I climbed out of bed, and walked to the closet. For a second my hand rested on the knob, but I let it go without pulling the door open. I whispered through the door, “You’re full of shit”.
That was a lot for a kid my age to say.
The monster breathed deeply, I could feel his weight shift the floor boards. He was smiling (I couldn't see it, but I felt it), “You love your parents, and you love your sister. You must know that your family cannot take this much longer, so I will make you a deal. Bring your sister to the foot of your closet door. Leave her, and I promise everything will be fine.” I knew that monsters lied. They do, everyone knows that, but I also knew my sister was dying. If not physically, then mentally. The next morning my sister lay sleeping in her crib, calm as an angel in the sunlight. I looked at her for a solid hour. It had been a week since my sister came home. One week since my father left. One week since my mother stopped talking, except to shout at my sister. I imagined what life would be like in a month, in a year. In that moment, eight year old me had a moment of clarity: I had to give her up.
That night I slipped my mother some melatonin (medication from her past insomnia). I grabbed my sister before the sunset. She laughed; I like to think she understood what I had to do. I opened the closet door as soon as night fell.
After that night, the monster never came back. My mom called the police in the morning. The proceedings were quick and easy. My father returned when he heard what happened. Although my parents slept in different rooms from then on, my life much returned to normal. The only difference now is that sometimes at night, I hear laughter.
Happy birthday sis.
there was a monster in my closet