When we are kids, monsters and scary things live under the bed. As we grow older, they tend to congregate elsewhere. When we are old, and have experienced the tragedies and stresses of life, they are everywhere.
He knew there was a monster in the house.
It was just around the corner in the hallway.
It always disappeared,
as he made the turn,
and
headed towards the other rooms in the house.
He crept silently down the stairs,
certain that he would find it sleeping
on the living room floor.
But, no matter how quietly he moved,
it was never there when he arrived.
He began to rise,
earlier and earlier,
and looked inside the drawers
and the closets.
He remembered the monster in the closet
after she died,
but he killed that one,
one article of clothing at a time.
Once, he thought he had it trapped
inside the laundry room;
but, when he turned on the light switch,
he only heard the scurrying
of little feet.
They belonged to an ancient species of insect
that had survived for millennia,
and fed on crumbs
and leftovers.
After a long while,
he realized that his anxiety
must be overblown.
There weren't really monsters.
They were figments of his imagination.
He let his guard down.
He took a risk
that a companion
would scare the monster away.
When she brought him a cup of coffee,
and kissed his cheek,
and held his hand,
he knew that the monster
wouldn't be there anymore.
