Those Final Moments

    One night, when it was late and her parents had long ago made her turn out the light, Sally was startled by the unmistakable sound of a monster beneath her bed. She hadn't yet fallen asleep, but lay instead in that strange place that comes just before. Sally loved that time of night, the last few moments of the waking hours. The thoughts that came to her in that time were unlike any other. They were lighter, freer, more blissfully transcendent. She knew them only by the impression they left upon her emotions, unfelt until she woke the following morning, for Sally always slept like a good girl straight through the night. The nearness of sleep in those final moments made the thoughts impossible to retain, and as she slipped across the threshold, her memory of them would slide into her dreams and gently fade away. The next morning, she would lie on her back with the covers pulled to her chin, gazing at the imperfections in the paint on her bedroom ceiling, and she would feel the happy glow of the previous night's closing thoughts. She thought they were like the actors at the end of a play, a play that lasted all day, and as the curtain closed they would stand in a line and take one final bow before they were hidden from sight.

    It was in this comfortable place, her young mind relaxed, that Sally inhabited when she was jolted back into the dark room by the most dreadful of noises. A long, low rumble, like stones grinding together, rose up to her ears and its vibrations crawled up through the mattress springs to tickle her skeleton. Sally knew the sound well. It was the growling of a hungry stomach, and its volume and depth gave sure proof of its monstrous origin. Though the room was pitch black, Sally opened her eyes and searched frantically for the walls, the corners, anything to orient herself in the void. Her gaze locked onto the crack beneath her door, a thin line of the faintest gray, more of a light black, the only thing visible in the whole room. She tilted her head and wiggled her toes to make sure she was all covered up. She was, and so she felt safe for the moment.

    “Mommy?” she called softly. There was no answer. No sound was heard from the rest of the house. “Daddy?” she tried again. The only answer was from the monster, another growl from its cavernous stomach. This growl was louder and rumblier, but worst of all it was accompanied by a terrible wet sound that Sally knew right away was the smacking of rubbery lips. She imagined the beast's long purple tongue sliding over glistening fangs, and the beginning of a deep terror that welled up from deep inside her soul, so deep down that it was the animal part and not the human part. It came from that primal darkness that lies within every person, that forgotten place where the fear of being eaten still resides after thousands of civilized years at the top of the food chain.

    Sally was chilled to the bone, but knew that panicking was too be avoided at all costs. She knew this because she could feel herself starting to panic, and everyone's first instinct in a dangerous situation is always the wrong decision. Clenching the sheets, she forced herself to draw deep breaths. The dark air filled her tiny lungs and after several long moments she could feel her grip on the sheets loosening. She closed her eyes, telling herself she couldn't see anything anyway, even if the monster was standing right over her.

    For a minute, Sally had convinced herself that it was working, and the calm would stay with her and she would make it through the night. She would stay safe under the covers, with only the white crescent of her forehead showing. But even as her confidence began to solidify, a new sound rose from beneath the bed. It was a humid exhalation of breath from the monster's rattling throat. The sound was quieter than the rumbles, but menacing in its softness. The monster's sigh interrupted Sally's regular breaths, and the panic rose anew in her chest. She tasted bile, and the blackness of the room, the darkness behind her eyelids erupted with the unexplainable bursts of red and purple that explode across people's vision in times of excitement. She took in air in short, hurried gasps, and her thin body twisted beneath the covers in silent agony. She longed to scream, but her parents were sleeping and she could certainly not risk waking her baby brother.

    Sally was a strong, smart girl, but she could not contain her fear. The unseen menace that breathed hot air beneath her bed, hungering for her flesh, filled her mind's eye and she lost control. With the sweep of her arm, she threw back the covers. She was going to make a dash for her parents' room. She wanted nothing more than to crawl in between their big, safe bodies, and sleep soundly until morning, when she planned to ask her mother for a nightlight to put in her room. This was her plan, and she steeled herself, willing the debilitating fear aside long enough to swing her feet over the edge of the bed and stand up.

    It didn't work, of course. Sally knew, deep in her animal soul, that she was doomed. The way a rabbit runs in the last second before the hawk catches it in its talons, Sally knew that she had been caught, and her desperate attempt to escape could never work. Her foot hit the cold floor, and the monster got her.