Bronagh's mother watched her toying with her food.
"Sit up straight, Bronnie," she chided, "and finish your dinner. Your father's ready to read you a story."
"I don't want to."
"Well, if you'd ... [+]
There’s something in my closet. Its raspy monster breath makes my curtains flutter at night. I tell my mom, but she says it’s just the sound of the wind whispering secrets to the moon.
There’s something in my closet. It scratch, scratch, scratches to get out with its sharp, shiny nails. I tell my dad, but he said it’s just the tree branches playing tic-tac-toe on the window.
“There’s something in my closet,” I tell my sister.
“You better eat him before he eats you,” she says. “Now get out of my room.”
There’s something in my closet. Sometimes I see its four hungry eyes - it’s a two-headed dragon. Or maybe an ogre.
“There’s something in my closet,” I tell Grandma.
“There’s only one way to get rid of it,” she says.
“You have to scare it away. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Not bad. Call for me when you’re serious.”
“Listen, if you want that monster to stay away, you’ve got to stand up straight, hold your head up high and say it like you mean it. Like this: BOOOOO!”
I jump. Now that’s scary!
Grandma kisses me goodnight.
I wait until it is the darkest dark. I tip-toe to the closet. I stand up straight, hold my head high and yank open the door.
There’s nothing there.
Until...way in the back, two pairs of yellow eyes s-l-o-w-l-y blink.
There’s something in my closet!
I dive into my bed under my blankets. When I don’t hear sharp, shiny nails scratching along the floor after me, I peek out.
Something rustles, and then a tiny, squeaky voice says, “Boo.”
I giggle. That’s not scary.
There’s a cough, a hiccup, and then a thump. “Ouch!”
I run to the closet. What’s going on in there? Way in the back, even farther than before, two pairs of eyes blink.
“Come here. I won’t hurt you.”
It waddles out on three legs.
We stare at one another.
“Did I scare you? Even just a little bit?” a tiny voice asks.
“Why?” I take one step back.
“My brothers always pick on me. They say I’m not scary. I’m not going back home until I scare a small human. But you’re not that little.” It takes two steps backwards.
“You’re afraid of me?”
“What’s your name?”
“Grommel. Grrrr for short.”
“My grandma taught me how to be scary. I can show you.”
The next night, when it’s the darkest of dark, my closet door creaks open. Shuffling footsteps approach my bed. I open my eyes. Three two-headed monsters surround me.
Grrrr winks, and I wink back. Then Grrrr holds its heads high and puffs out its chest before bellowing the biggest and meanest:
“B O O O O O O !”
I scream and throw the covers over my head.
My mom, dad, grandma, and sister all run into my room.
“What happened?” asks Mom.
“What happened?” asks Dad.
“That’s my girl!” says Grandma.
“You woke me up,” says my sister.
“There was something in my closet, but not anymore.”