Monsters in My Closet
By Emma Labedis

A child's scream is one of the most terrifying sounds a person could ever hear. The scream is ear splitting and can drive any parent to madness. This was the sound that Mathew heard coming from his son's bedroom at exactly twelve o'clock.

Instantly Mathew was out of his bed and flying down the long hall. He ripped open his son's door and found him curled up into a little ball. Everything in the room was sitting in its place, but poor little Timothy was lying on his bed covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.


The room looked just like any young boy's bedroom. Blue walls, airplanes hanging from the ceiling, and toys galore dotted the tiny room in the flat. Timothy had light brown feathery hair, streaked with blond from spending too much time outdoors. Everyone said he looked just like his father, with the soft and kind features, but Mathew could not see it.

Mathew knew what was wrong. This would be the same problem that had been going on for weeks. The problem would be the monsters.

Timothy was only four and still believed monsters lived in his closet. Mathew knew there were not any monsters, but he had no idea how to tell this to Timothy. Letting out a sigh of despair, Mathew plopped on the bed next to his son. He reached over and patted Timothy's shoulder while saying, "It's okay. I'm here. Your daddy's here."

"No! You're just the monster! You're just pretending to be Daddy!" Timothy yelled, squirming away from his father's touch.

"Timothy, open your eyes. It's me," Mathew pleaded. Slowly Timothy opened his eyes and saw his father sitting on the bed next to him. He immediately fell into his father's arms.

"Daddy, the monster came back. You said he wouldn't but he did," Timothy sobbed. Mathew looked down at his son and saw tears in his eyes. Mathew had no idea how life got this bad. Most likely Timothy's monsters started when his mother died.

She passed away after being in a fatal car crash. A semi driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and hit her car causing it to spin off the road. Shortly after, Timothy began to believe there was a monster in his closet.

"There's no such thing as monsters," Mathew tried to explain.

"But there is, and one of them is in my closet!" Mathew would be going to work the next day and could not lose any more sleep.

"Do you want to come sleep in my bed for the rest of the night?" Timothy gave a slight nod before getting up and shuffling after his father, blanket in hand.

The next morning Mathew dropped Timothy off at pre-school and headed to work. All day he could not stop thinking about his son and the monster problem. Mathew felt terrible that his son was having trouble with monsters and he was not doing anything. He decided right then and there to get help for Timothy.

Only a few minutes passed when Mathew found a therapist that dealt with this kind of problem. His name was Dr. Samuel Charleston, a child therapist who was recommended by many parents with young children. He scheduled an appointment for the next day at four o'clock.

At three o'clock Mathew left work to go pick Timothy up from pre-school. Timothy had taken his blanket and still had it clutched in his hands. When he hopped in the car Mathew decided to strike up a conversation.

"So, how was everything today?"

"Okay," Timothy said timidly. Instantly Mathew knew something was wrong, but he didn't ask. He already knew, the problem was the other boys. They made fun of Timothy and his blanket. Mathew once tried to get this problem fixed, but the teacher would not help. She ignored all the teasing Timothy endured.

"I scheduled an appointment with a doctor who's going to talk to you about your monster problem," Mathew explained.

"Does he believe in monsters?" Timothy asked.

"Well no, but he can get rid of them."

Timothy perked up at this and asked, "Does he know a good monster hunter?"


"Timothy, he's a doctor who will figure out why you made up this monster, then get rid of it using his knowledge." Mathew was having a hard time explaining psychology to his young son. He could not simplify this concept to a four-year-old.


"What if he doesn't get rid of the monster?"

"He will, I promise." Mathew had no more information to give his son. Timothy would just see that the therapist would help.


The next day at four o'clock, Mathew took Timothy to the therapist. They sat in a small waiting room with nothing to look at but year old magazines. The soft tap, tap, tap of the receptionist's keyboard could be heard in the background. Timothy sat next to his father still holding his blanket.

"Will the doctor be nice to me?" Timothy asked.

"Yes, he will," Mathew replied. Suddenly an older looking gentleman stepped into the room.

"You must be Mathew," he said while walking over to Mathew and shaking his hand. "And this must be Timothy." The man bent over to look Timothy in the face. "My name is Dr. Charleston. I'm going to talk to you about your monster today."

"Would you like me to wait out here?" Mathew asked Dr. Charleston.

"That would be fine. Come on, Timothy." Dr. Charleston led Timothy out of the waiting room. Mathew then sat back down in his chair and waited. After about an hour, Dr. Charleston and Timothy came out.

Dr. Charleston explained to Mathew that he wanted to see Timothy again the next week. He continued to say that if Timothy started to scream, Mathew should simply ignore it and let Timothy scream himself out. He needed to see that monsters do not live in his closet. The two left Dr. Charleston's office and went home.

When they sat down in the car Timothy said, "I don't want to go back. Dr. Charleston didn't get rid of the monster."

"He will in time."


"How?"

"He just will." For the rest of the car ride Timothy stayed silent. He was still quiet when they got home and ate supper. Timothy finally said good night as he headed off to bed.

That night, Timothy began to scream. Mathew was out of bed and at the door when he remembered what Dr. Charleston said. He then turned back around and went to bed. Timothy continued to scream and call out for his father, but Mathew simply stayed still.

"Go back to bed, Timothy! There aren't any monsters!" Mathew called out. Suddenly Timothy's scream stopped short. Mathew knew something was wrong so he jumped out of bed and ran to his son's bedroom.

Mathew reached Timothy's room and tore back the covers to the bed. Timothy was not there. He was gone. All that was left was his blanket sitting where Timothy should be sleeping. Mathew ran out of the room to go call the police. What he did not notice was that Timothy's closet door slowly closed, the tumblers making an almost silent "click" as they fell into place.