By. Susan Reed
I hear her crying.
Oh, how she whimpers!
I peak from behind my spot, knowing she has neither the desire nor the nerve to look.
Banging against the wall, I make my sounds louder than required. Frantic laughter causing an inhuman sound from my mortal body. Tilting to the side, I lean in to take note.
“Wh… wherever y-you are…Who..Whoever you are. My daddy will be here soon!”
The sounds of sheets and comforter fill the room, her small hands wringing them. All day, this diminutive little monster has taunted me. Banging my head against the wall ruthlessly. Thinking I’d long since left.
No little one. I’ve not left.
I answer her with a long squeak, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!”
Her screams fill the room.
Oh look! She’s hidden under the blanket.
I am strong. Powerful. Nothing can stop me. Of all the truths and lies in the world, this is the prevalent certainty of all! Nothing can stop me. Nothing!
The cool breeze encircles the room. The door opens and there he is. Her savior.
I must be quiet!
Shrinking down in my corner, I keep my body still. He won’t see me. Surely he cannot.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
“Th… there’s a monster in my room.”
“Now, we’ve been over this a thousand times. You have-”
“It’s over there!”
Oh, for Christ’s sake. She’s pointed in my direction!
The man is walking towards me.
Oh, but you can’t hurt me! I will defeat you. I’ve waited all day for my retribution and you won’t destroy it!
I let out a terrible shriek as he leans down to grasp me firmly in one hand.
“It was just a leftover balloon from your party, dear. It was behind your fan,” he announces, sinking a pin into my quivering body.
Written for this week’s Writing Challenge. Unreliable Narrator.
This week, consider the unreliable narrator — a classic storytelling device — in your own work, no matter your genre.