Sometimes, when I was five years old, I sprint go to bed before the monsters began their nightly adventures that included scaring me. My mom kept insisting that I was dreaming. But, I knew better, They were big and hairy and very ugly. Stormy nights were the worst because the howling wind filled every corner of my room.

Any smart kid would beg to sleep in his mother’s room, and I was pretty smart. When I turned six, I thought how wonderful it would be if they’d stop frightening me and just keep me company since I am an only child.

Most evenings I would tiptoe upstairs to safety so they wouldn’t hear me. I would run straight to my room, and dive into bed before you could blink.  I would pull my nifty, monster-zapping blanket over my head. Then, I would pray harder than any other time and tell God how sorry I was for whatever I had done wrong that day. They must have read my mind because, by midnight, they moved into my house.

I knew that monsters slept during the day for energy to scare better all night long. Since God would have to stay awake, I would try to remember to bring Him a snack and hide it from the intruders.

My dad used to turn on my light and try to convince me. “There’s no such thing as monsters. See, there aren’t any monsters under the bed or in the closet. Now, go to sleep.” He didn’t seem to understand that monsters don’t show themselves to grown-ups, just children. So, every time he tried to find them, the monsters would hide in my sock drawer until my dad left. Then, they’d come out ready to start monster play. My dad insisted that even if there were monsters, God would keep them in check because God wasn’t afraid of anything.

The monsters who came to live in my house were pests with terrible table manners. They’d slurp their soup just to get me in trouble, laughing until they fell out of their chairs. Then, as soon as my dad began lecturing me on the table rules of “this” house, a monster would let out the loudest and most disgusting burp you could ever imagine. The boys in my class practiced their burping skills at lunch time, but I didn’t dare try it at home.

The thirsty monsters would make me wake up my parents in the middle of the night for a cold glass of milk. Then, they would drink the whole glass, and never give me any. It was a setup. The hungry ones would sneak cake and cookies into my pockets at the dinner table and gobble up every crumb when we got to my room. For five months I never got to taste any goodies my mom baked. I was getting tired of cleaning up their mess and they were getting pretty chubby.

Those monsters could be awfully naughty. They would have pillow fights and leave fluffy feathers all over the room. I tried to tell them that pillow fights were not allowed. They would stop, only to go into the bathroom to squirt toothpaste all over our antique mirror and sink. I wanted to make them quit before my folks started yelling, but monsters don’t listen to children.

My parents began to argue about me more and more. My mom complained that I was making her forehead get wrinkles from worrying. My dad told her I was just being a boy. “Boys and pranks were made for each other,” he declared. But then, my folks started whispering a lot whenever I entered a room. And just yesterday, I heard them talking about taking me to a kid doctor that is a shrink. He has a long name that I can’t pronounce. (psychiatrist). That word isn’t on my vocabulary list from school, and I haven’t ever met one. I figured that the monsters wouldn’t want to talk to a stranger, anyhow—especially a grown-up stranger. Besides, there were too many monsters to fit in our compact Kia. The first monsters have begun inviting their friends to live in my house.

One of the monsters must have googled the word “Psychiatrist” and got scared, because yesterday they disappeared as quickly as they came. I don’t miss them at all—well, maybe just a little. Maybe, somewhere out there are monster schools that can teach manners. Maybe there are homes that adopt monsters. Maybe, when I’m eight, I’ll ask my parents to adopt one or two.

My parents seem happier now, and our family is back to normal. I almost never got in trouble, and I donated my monster-zapping blanket–in case another little kid needs it. I am also the best and most gross “burper” in the second lunch wave. I never told my parents the real story about the monsters.  There are just some things that are better left alone until you are at least ten.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I can hear them laughing and burping and jumping up and down on my bed. Sometimes, I believe that I can even hear them praying—especially on stormy nights. I’m not afraid anymore. I just smile and before I know it, the sun is creeping around my window shades and morning has arrived. I don’t worry because God and my monsters are watching over me and keeping me safe. I guess they were listening to my prayers! Maybe they will enjoy praying so much, they won’t have  any time to frighten children.

Oh, yes. My parents just announced that we are having a baby. They must have figured that I was lonely. As soon as the baby is three or four, I’ll begin to teach her how to tame monsters. But first, I’ll let her know how God will always protect her. Then, she will never have to worry about being afraid of anything.