The Closet

A little boy was scared of monsters in the closet.
 
“What if we shut it?” the boy’s father suggested.
 
“No!” he boy said. “Then the monsters will get hot — they’ll be angry with me. And they’ll want to stretch their legs.”
 
“Then what if we leave it open a crack?” the boy’s father suggested.
 
“No!” he boy said. “Then I’ll be watching it all night, to see if the monsters’ fingers are reaching through. And they’ll smell me. If they weren’t hungry before, they will be now.”
 
The boy’s father sighed. It was bedtime and he could tell the little boy was tired.
 
“Well,” he said. “If we can’t close the door and we can’t keep it open, I guess you just need to sleep with me.”
 
“I guess,” the boy said, with evident relief. “Thank you, papa.”
 
“You’re welcome.”
 
As they walked through the darkened house together, the little boy reached for his father’s hand. “Papa?” he said. “Were my brothers and sister scared of monsters in the closet?”
 
“No,” the boy’s father said.
 
“Is that what got them?”
 
“Now it is time to sleep,” the boy’s father said, dropping his hand and giving a not-gentle shove toward the bed. And the boy tried. But sleep didn’t come easily.