Monsters in the Darkness

I sat out on the cold cement step, a child on each of my sides. The only light was the moon which cast an eerie glow across the thick fog. Suddenly we heard a loud animal scream followed by a shallow howl. It was close. Real close. We all stared at the corner of the house. Watching. Waiting. For whatever was lurking to come creeping around the corner to devour us.

“I hope the bus comes really soon,” my five year old whispered. I couldn’t agree with her more.

I shuddered in fear as I thought of the real possibility that there was a viscous monster, I mean animal, prowling around nearby. What would I really do? How would I protect my precious children?

Sure, we could run inside. All the way around the house, to the door that sat on the back side. Surely we would be monster stew before we ever made it that far.

We could run through the slider that stood proudly behind us. So close. Yet very likely locked. Why did the husband have to lock that every night? Why didn’t I ever think to slip through the living room and unlock it before coming outside? Even if it were unlocked, I knew that shall something come lurking around the corner that we all stared at, we would barely have time to make it inside.

As we sat in silence. Listening. Watching. Waiting. I wondered what I would really do. I needed that pistol I occasionally talked about. Surely with a pistol in hand I would feel safe. Protected. Able to protect.

As the days passed and the mornings got darker and darker. The woods that surrounded our house. The field that beckoned to wild life to come hither nearby. I would carry a gun to the bus stop every morning. Hidden. A secret armor of protection, a wing of protection to wrap my children in.

What would the bus driver think? If she ever knew that is. It is my property so it should be my right. But is it really? Is the bus stop truly my property? And what about the other parents, would I really want them to all be carrying pistols of protection around my children?

What did I really care what the bus driver thought? My five year old doesn’t even like the bus driver, and she likes everyone.

The bus pulls up. It’s flashing lights piercing through the foggy darkness. I bid my children farewell and very cautiously walk back into the house, slamming the door a little too hurriedly on my way in.

That was two cups of coffee and a sunrise ago. Now, I’m ready to face the day with slightly more bravery. At least, until tomorrow morning when I must battle the forces of darkness once again.


Categories: 2016

Tags: , , , , , , ,

2 replies

  1. Great story, and touching on an interesting and controversial topics as well.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

The Art of Blogging

For bloggers who aspire to inspire

The Messed Up Human


Invisible Illnesses

Awareness, Education, Research & Quips along with my acrylic paintings and mixed media interest.

"Totus tuus ego sum, et omnia mea tua sunt. Accipio te in mea omnia.”

Random ramblings about life and everything in between

A Beautiful Disaster

Writing it out, one blog at a time.

The Voices In My Head

All my random thoughts...

Beyond Your Memories

Helping You Write Your Memories

Into the Well

Getting well, staying well, being well, feeling well. A lay exploration into wellbeing where psychology, neuroscience, philosophy, the humanities, spirituality and more converge

%d bloggers like this: