Think back. You were 5, maybe 6, possibly an overly protected 13, and you wouldn’t go to sleep, couldn’t go to sleep, until one of the adults in the house checked your room for the monster than lived in the closet, hid behind the dresser, or worst of all, stayed under the bed from where he would spring out in the middle of the night to devour innocent 5, maybe 6, or possibly overly protected 13 year olds. Night after night, first one adult, then the other, would scour your bedroom looking for a monster who was never there to be found. Well, I found that monster. He is living under my bed. But he is not interest in devouring 5, 6, or oven 13 year olds. No he eats  anything and everything that hits the bedroom floor during the night. Or at least tries.

Lately I have been experiencing a rather clumsy period. I manage to put myself to bed each night fairly well unscathed but once I am in there, nestled between the sheets, my natural grace falls asleep before I do and I am left an inelegant, clumsy fool. I roll over attempting to find a more comfortable position and my arms must flail about the room, knocking everything that once was on the bedside table onto the bedside floor. Oh but there it doesn’t remain. I spring from my bed as I hear the clatter and wonder with my head what could be the matter (sorry, Mr. Moore).

I know there used to be a water bottle, watch, phone, book, another book, tablet, e-reader, charger(s), tissues, reading glasses, and a lamp on the table when I got into bed yet nothing but the glasses remain. As I reach to the floor to begin repositioning the pieces, I run my hand over the carper but feel nothing but carper. Further out from the bed I reach, leaning precariously over the side and still feel nothing. Nothing at all. Not even things that began the night on the floor like the pair of slippers that should be there. Farther I reach, twisting my body, stretching my arm, leaning out into the dark void until little more than my lower legs are holding me up on top of the mattress lest I too join the missing articles that once cluttered the nightstand.

Cursing the darkness I remember the adage “better to light a candle than curse the darkness,” but there who in their right mind keeps candles in the bedroom in the 21st century. Cursing the lamp that seems to have magically returned to its customary place I switch it on and survey the bedroom floor. And there I see – no water bottle, no watch, no phone, no book, no other book, no tablet, no e-reader, and no tissues, although I do spy several chargers dangling off the nightstand from their cords still plugged into the power block still plugged into the wall. Where did they all go? I refocus my gaze farther away from the bed, toward the wall, farther still to the door, and just as I am about to attempt to peer around corners to see if they bounced all the way to the hall, I remembered the monster.

Yes, the monster. It must have been the monster, the monster who has returned from ages past to live again under my bed. The monster has sworn off eating children, adopting now a vegan diet – monster version. The monster for whom water bottles, watches, phones, books, other books, tablets, e-readers, and tissues would make a yummy meal. That monster. And I slowly lean all the way over, lift the bed skirt, and there, there, there is no monster but there are my water bottle, watch, phone, book, another book, tablet, e-reader, and tissues, all there where the monster had gathered them before leaving them uneaten as he ran for cover when he heard my begin my frantic search.

It had to have been the monster. How else could anything and everything I drop anywhere on that bedroom floor end up an arm’s length under the bed. Clearly, I have a monster under my bed. That and I have to stop kung pao chicken so close to bedtime.