Blogs

One night, when I walked into 5-year-old Natalie's room to tell her goodnight, I noticed that the child was crouching on the edge of her bed, looking down to the floor as if she were waiting for something to come out from under her.

"What on earth are you doing, baby girl?"

"There's a robber under my bed," she stated matter of factly.

With a chuckle, I assured her, "There is no robber under your bed. I don't think anyone could even fit under . . ."

But before I could finish my sentence, I heard it. From under the bed, there came a faint rustling sound and then a "clunk." I felt my eyes get big as I shot a look at Natalie, who returned it with an expression that clearly said, "I told you."

In what must have been a brief moment of panic, I lost track of just how it came to be that I ended up crouched on the edge of the bed next to Natalie, looking down at the ground as if we were waiting for something to come out from under us.

After a few tense minutes and a few more noises from under the bed, my older daughter Hannah wandered into the room and looked at the two of us inquisitively.

"What are you guys doing?" she asked.

"There's a robber under the bed," my youngest answered.

Hannah looked at me for some clarification.

"Umm, I don't think it's a robber . . ." I started to explain cautiously.

"There's a monster under the bed," Natalie then added.

Again Hannah looked at me.

With a shrug of unsureness, I tried to prevent the situation from elevating to sheer terror, "Well, I'm not going to say that I think there's a monster under the bed, but . . ."

The clunking noise once again came from underneath the bed. In a flash, Hannah took her crouching place next to me and Natalie on the edge of the bed, all three of us looking at the floor as if we were waiting for something to come out from under us.

Hannah turned to me and with a fearful voice said, "It's a monster isn't it?"

For a second I tried to formulate a less scary explanation for the noises that were emanating from under the bed, but I had nothing. The clunk was far too heavy to be a mouse.

"Yes, it might be a monster," I was finally forced to admit to my daughter.

One of the unfortunate aspects of being a father in a situation such as this is that both of my daughters sat wide-eyed and silently staring at me, waiting for me to figure out how to save the three of us. My brain scrambled, trying desperately to come up with a solution, while simultaneously doing my best to suppress the rising sense of horror that I was beginning to succumb.

I realized that my cell phone was in my pocket, so I pulled it out and speed dialed my wife, who was downstairs watching American Idol completely unaware that her husband and two daughters were trapped upstairs facing certain death.

"Hello?" she answered in a somewhat bewildered tone, "aren't you upstairs?"

"Yes, I am. I need you to go to the basement and get one of the softball bats and bring it up here . . . or a butcher knife, either one, and don't ask!"

"What are you talking about?" she said, sounding curiously annoyed.

"Please just do it," I plead without trying to sound frantic.

I could hear her moving around downstairs and grumbling about having to get off of the couch. I heard the kitchen drawer open and close, followed by the sound of my wife coming up the steps.

"What is going on up here?" she demanded as she entered the room.

"There's a monster under the bed." Natalie explained quite calmly.

My wife looked at Hannah, who nodded in agreement, and then at me.

"Well, I'm not going to go so far as to say that it's a monster under there, but there is something."

Right on cue, the rustling and clunk sound started up again. My wife's gaze focused on the underside of the bed.

Without a word, she walked over to the edge of the bed and squatted down to look underneath our perch. She then let out a disgusted snort and reached under the bed. The three of us on the bed gasped and hid our eyes. A mild scuffle could be heard, and then she pulled her arm back out and held up CeeCee, our large Persian cat.

With a sigh of relief, the three of us were able to get off the edge of the bed. In addition to relief, I also felt a bit of embarrassment over having been saved from a "monster" by my wife.

"So you thought there was something under the bed, and called ME to come up and deal with it?" my wife demanded. "Were you thinking that it would be better for me to get attacked by the monster instead of YOU?"

"That's why I told you to bring up a weapon," I answered pathetically. "I figured if you had a bat or a knife, you might fare better than the three of us who were unarmed!"

Ever since the whole monster under the bed incident, my wife seems to delight in telling the story, shedding a most unflattering light on my role in the situation. I have since vowed that no matter what type of horrible beast is haunting our house, I would much rather be eaten alive, than to give her any more ammunition for degrading stories such as this one she enjoys telling.

- Jon Ziegler

Jon Ziegler is a husband, father of two girls and a tree trimmer who started writing as an outlet for what he calls "creative madness." He's the author of The How-Not-To Guide to Parenting and Marriage and From Inside the Brain of a Dad Looking Out.