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Ready or Not
Ready or Not
There was a time when my daughter and I played hide and seek. Every day when I came home from work, without fail, she’d be right inside waiting for me to play with her. She liked it more when I played because her mom wouldn’t let her win, which is a little mean on her part, I have to admit.
I remember the last time we played. I just finished counting and before I could yell, “ready or not here I come,” the most blood-curdling scream ran through the house. I ran up to her room and she was crawling out from beneath her bed sobbing. She didn’t stop screaming until I held her and even then she’d have trouble gathering herself. That was the last time we ever played.
A week has passed, and instead of playing every day, I have to look for monsters under her bed just so she could sleep soundly.
“Are you going to tell me how the monster looks like?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Why not?”
She stayed quiet for a bit. Finally she told me to come closer. I sat down by her side and turn my head so she could whisper into my ear. She awkwardly grabbed my neck so I wouldn’t move away and, with a small breath of air, she finally exhaled.
“It’s the Boogeyman.”
Right after saying that she pushed me away and covered herself with her blanket as if it were a force field of extreme protection.
“I’m your father and I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.”
“Pinky promise?”
Oh God, she is so sweet.
“Sure, pinky promise.”
She let her hand out of her force field and raised her pinky, looking for mine. I let her have my finger and she squeezed it a little too hard. She poked out her head a bit and she smiled at me. I finally turned on a little light she wanted me to get her, and I left the room.
As I was walking up to my room, this grating sound appeared. The farther I got from my daughter, the louder it got. It was loudest when I laid on my bed beside my wife, who was idly reading a book.
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“THAT! Listen.”
We held our tongues and our breaths, muted the television and listened for any sound out of the ordinary, but there was nothing other than what we’d hear normally in our house.
“See? There’s no sound.”
“That’s so weird. I swear I could hear something.”
“You need to sleep more.”
“And you need to let your daughter win when she plays games with you.”
Right then, the lights went out, and a guttural and terrifying scream echoed through the house. It was coming from her room. I grabbed my phone to use as a flashlight and ran over to her, the scream getting louder and louder. I opened her door and the screaming stopped. And there she was, covered by her blanket.
“Daddy,” she said sobbing, “he’s here. The monster.”
“Where?”
“Under my bed…”
I walked over to her bed and knelt down to look. Her sobs started to turn into giggles. I pointed the light and, to my horror, beneath the bed was the dead body of my daughter. She was bloody and bent awkwardly so she could fit down there. I was frozen in that position, not being able to process what was going on. The giggles coming from the thing on my daughter’s bed turned into full-blown laughter.
“Ready or not…” it said with glee.
I looked up, saw its horrible face and everything went dark.
