#13: The Monster

"The most frightening thing on two feet," Grandpa said dramatically. "That's who's coming to our house tonight."

"Don't scare the kids, Dad," my mom chastised. "They'll have nightmares."

"They'll have nightmares if they get out of bed tonight and sneak around where they shouldn't be."

"Really, Dad, no one's getting up." I could see that my mom was thinking about it and her skin got noticeably whiter. "They know better, don't you, kids?" All three of us nodded vigorously.

***

It was just before sunrise. It was like something inside me felt the sun cross over the equator, sending rays more perpendicular, ready to melt the snows. Of course, I'm projecting back, but I'm pretty sure that's what I was feeling that woe me up that morning.

My brothers were sleeping. They didn't hear the strange, repetitive sound. And, yes, Mom was right; I knew better.

But nevertheless. I snuck out of my room and chanced a peek into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was wide open, and the cotton tail was sticking out from behind the door.

I gasped.

He turned around. Over six-feet tall, not counting the ears. His frighteningly anthropomorphized face was the grimace of anger. He dropped our eggs all over the kitchen floor.

I yelled.

I heard his monstrous hopping coming after me as I ran down the hall. His rabbity scream echoed through the halls. With all the strength of my brothers, we held the door against the beast.

At last, the sun rose, and we heard his hops recede.


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