Writing Group: Under the Monster’s Bed (PRIVATE)

Sleep well, Click-Clacks and Rattlebags!

Best not look under there. No, no, it’s nothing to be afraid of, really. But I still don’t think you should look, because…

This week’s Writing Group prompt is:

Under the Monster’s Bed

Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!

You’ve heard of monsters under the bed—the fears we harbor as children of the closet, of the dark, and of hands set to wrap around our ankles. But what hides under the monster’s bed? 

The first place my mind goes to is a switch—a monster calling their parents into the room because they’re scared a human child is under their bed. Like in Monster’s Inc., how the monsters are scared of Boo, the little girl. There are many different fun switcharoos/opposites you could use with this: an angel hiding under a demon’s bed, a knight or princess hiding in a dragon’s hoard, a vampire hunter hiding in a vampire’s coffin, a rooster under a basilisk nest. There are lots of hilarious stories you could write of heroes hiding under the villain’s bed. Such as an adventuring party reaching the villain’s lair, but the only place to hide is under the villain’s bed, so they’re all crowded under there…all the while the villain plays ponies on the bed, or cries themselves to sleep. I think lots of fun stories could be created by thinking of something you’d usually consider a monster, and then reversing the roles—putting the “good” character in the monster’s usual hiding spot. 

Part of what makes the image of “the monster under the bed” so scary (and so common) is that it’s the image of danger in your safe place. But let’s have fun switching the roles around this week—what’s safe to a monster? What leaves the monsters vulnerable and scared? 

What’s hiding under the monster’s bed doesn’t necessarily have to be something good. What leaves a monster vulnerable and scared could easily be more monsters. You could play with the idea of “there’s always a bigger fish.” A child might be scared of a monster…but it stands to reason what haunts that monster would be that much scarier. It could be a cycle: a monster haunts the human child, a monster haunts the monster child, and it’s monsters all the way down. You could do silly things with this too—perhaps a zombie is buried under a vampire’s coffin, or two monsters get their schedules jumbled, and end up haunting each other. 

What hides under a monster’s bed could also make the monster…less monstrous. Perhaps hiding under a monster’s bed is a box of mementos from better times. Maybe they keep the letters from their lost love, or the photographs from their past friendships. You could even go very symbolic with this—maybe what hides “under the monster’s bed” is rather the good person just beneath their villainous surface, which is brought out during the story. How does our hero get “under their bed”? How can they pull the “box of memories” to the surface? 

You could do other domestic, gentle things with it too. Maybe you want to write about a cute little “monster” and the toys hidden under their bed. Or the strange, alien pet hiding there during a thunderstorm. What’s hidden under the monster’s bed doesn’t have to be living, or evil. It could just as easily be smelly socks, lint, dust bunnies, old coins, and toys. 

You could play with different types of beds, like waterbeds, air mattresses, or hammocks. Maybe fish swim in the arrogant billionaire’s fancy waterbed, or a snake curls up beneath the hammock of the teen who refused to help set up camp. 

It doesn’t even have to be a traditional bed either! Many things are said to have beds; maybe your monster has a flower bed, with skeletons, or else harmless trinkets, hidden inside. Or perhaps you want to write about a river or sea monster, and what’s hidden beneath the river or seabed. Even layers of rocks can be beds—“a bed of clay.” Perhaps an entire civilization is the “monster,” built on the fossils of the previous one. Or a foundation could be a bed—“a bed of concrete.” Maybe a murderer hides the evidence in wet concrete. Even layered foods can have beds—“a bed of spinach.” Maybe your character is a petulant child, who wants the chocolate beneath the bed of “monstrous” raisins in the trail mix. 

You can take it further than that. You don’t have to use something called a bed either. It can just be a place of rest. Maybe someone, who just destroyed a bar in a drunken rage, collapses on the couch, finding old coins in the cracks. Perhaps you want to write about a homeless kid who is treated as a monster by society, and in their bed of straw are their only possessions. A troll might find rocks very comfortable to sleep on (or you could use the river bed idea with a bridge troll too). Perhaps a spider (considered a monster by many) lives under someone’s hat, so what’s under their bed is simply…a person. Maybe a mother reptile, or bird, or even a dinosaur, finds something hiding under her eggs. 

Because that’s the thing. It doesn’t have to be a bed with four posts and a mattress…and it doesn’t have to be a fantastical monster either. People can become monsters more easily than most of us care to admit. Perhaps one spouse is having an affair, and the way they ruined the relationship makes them a monster, and the person they’re having the affair with hides under the bed. People will sometimes hide their diaries under the bed (or at least under the pillow). What could make a little girl doodling in her diary a monster? Perhaps she bullies the other kids at school, and the evidence is written in her diary. Maybe you want to write about a traditional situation where a monster hides under a child’s bed…only to slowly show us that the child is the real monster, and the “monster” is more of a guardian angel. 

Let’s take the symbolism even further. There’s a saying “You’ve made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.” Generally, this doesn’t refer to a literal bed. This is usually said to someone complaining about their lot in life, meaning “You’ve made many poor choices that led you to this place in life. Now you’re facing the consequences.” As long as you make the bed connection clear, I think this could be a fascinating take on the prompt. Perhaps a villain, or cooperation creates an evil empire, and the rebellion arising against their cruel regime is what’s hiding under their “bed.” Perhaps you want to write about how your villain’s evil actions come back to bite them in another way—it could even be something as simple as them creating a structurally unsound, but impressive, castle that comes crashing down. 

Initially my challenge for this week was going to be “don’t make it an actual bed” and/or “make all the characters human.” If you prefer either (or both) of those, feel free to still use them! You could even add another layer of difficulty where each challenge excludes the other—either write about only human characters, or only non-human characters; either write about a literal bed, or a non-literal bed, but not both. 

However, the more I write about the potential literal takes, the more hilarious they seem, and the more I’d love to see you write about them. So I thought I’d try a new angle. 

This prompt is, in some ways, “What makes a monster less scary?” Because, if you know what’s hiding under the monster’s bed, then presumably that makes them less scary to you. Even if you’re still just as scared, maybe you at least have a better understanding of the monster. 

So my challenge is…that. Think about what would make a monster less scary. What fears does the monster have to deal with? This could be a reason to sympathize with the monster—like the bigger fish, or box of memento ideas, or just finding a gentle, happy side to the monster after seeing the toys under its bed. But you could also take it even deeper, and think of the monster under your bed. This could be what you were scared of as a kid, or something you’re scared of today. Think of something that genuinely scared/scares you…and give it a monster under its bed. Sort as a therapy for yourself—making the nightmares you’ve truly faced less big.

Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!

Oh no. Well…I did tell you not to look.


Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.

Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!

The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.

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We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!

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jesse fisher
jesse fisher
2 months ago

Bath Time
By Jesse Fisher

The sound of scuffling feet and giggles echo in the playroom as a set of toddlers screamed and the sounds of them running filled the next room. It was the parent’s room, rather plain and unassuming. The room had images of the family on the walls but the hybrid children paid it no mind as they began to run to the only spot they could find.

The bed.

Thanks to their size the pair fit under the furniture easily. The giggles had to be hushed by claw to beak and paw to maw. Their clothing was ruffled and bunched in ways only kids can cause. Their eyes saw the one chasing them, it slithered like a serpent. Yet it lacked scales and had arms with a mask.

“Come on you two,” The feminine voice called out. “I promised your parents that I would have you bathed by the time they got back from work.”

The child with the beak wanted to retort back but their sibling hushed them. The child with claws knew better, the monster just wanted them clean so she could have power over them. They were old enough to bath themselves and they knew when it was time for such things.

“I know one of you is going to try and outsmart me.” Came the unspoken reply. “You might be smarter than the average cub but I’ve been around long enough to sense you out.”

It was at that moment the masked nanny spoked them, causing the pair to rush towards the bathroom. It was only when the door locked that the ‘smarter than average child knew they had been outsmarted.

2 months ago

How Victory Is Measured
by Lunabear (A Song for: Nikita)

The little girl hustled down a long hallway, the heels of her shoes loud against heavy Jarrah wood. Rushing was difficult because she had to hold her dress’s hem above the floor. Regardless of the reason, he wouldn’t tolerate lateness.

Excitement coursed through her despite the potential consequences. This would be her first time inside the conference room. In all of the manor, that was one section forbidden to her.

Well, HIS daysleep chambers were also off limits.

Speaking of that very place, the door was ajar, which was never the case. A human heart beating out its final, plaintive rhythm was all too familiar.

Her steps slowed, and she looked to the end of the hall then back towards his room. Should she go inside?

‘No’, she mentally chastised herself. ‘The last time I went through a door that wasn’t supposed to be opened, I was turned against my will.’

“Help me,” the voice rasped. Roses and jasmine beneath heavy perspiration identified the person as feminine.

The little girl halted a few feet from her destination. Worry and curiosity intermingled low in her stomach. If she were tardy, she would suffer. On the other hand, the woman was in danger. Her breathing was already labored. Pained.

Biting into her lower lip, nearly drawing blood, the little girl thought it better to assist this woman, in spite of the punishments. Gathering her courage, she retraced her steps and poked her head around the jamb.

Her eyes were instantly drawn to the four-poster bed and the older woman half beneath it. Her fang-marked torso was visible, and her wrists were bound.

The little girl zipped over to the whimpering woman just as the exit was slammed shut and locked.

“The deaths of rabbits and deer masking their blood,” he hissed. “You fed from humans but never killed a single one. You thought it would go unnoticed. Well, allow us to rectify that.”

Her dread-filled gaze met that of a stone cold murderer.

“In doing so, you will earn your vampiric name: Nikita. It means ‘victor’. And I shall be your Maker.”

Last edited 2 months ago by Lunabear
2 months ago

Bedtime Stories

The doll waited under the edge of the bed, wondering what story Daddy would tell tonight. He was later than usual, and Astrea never liked to be kept waiting.

The doll bravely rolled out from under the bed and peered up at its creator. Mismatched eyes pouted behind salt and pepper pigtails, and an oversized mouth with razor fangs gnawed impatiently on the blanket. It had been nearly ten minutes.

The door opened and the disheveled scientist walked through, reading glasses dangling on the edge of his nose. He pulled up a chair and sat alongside the bed, however it was more of a “fall into” than a “sit”. He sighed, he noticed the doll that had rolled from under the bed, and tucked it in next to his daughter.

“What story would you like to hear tonight, Little Star?”

Astrea thought for a moment, rubbing her knuckles into her temples.

“The one about the girl with a dragon friend,” she demanded.

Daddy lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Please,” she added from behind the blanket.

The doll loved this story. Daddy sat back and recalled it, too tired to get it off the bookshelf.

“Once Upon a Time,” as all proper stories began. “There was a young woman who was made of ink.”

Astrea listened intently. The young woman would shift and morph between forms, and Astrea imagined herself doing the same. She would get into scrapes and scuffles, and Astrea saw herself coming out victorious. Her friend was slain in battle, and Astrea wanted to give her a hug, no matter how goopy.

“But then,” Daddy said. “A strange dog came to her.” And a strange dog it was, because it turned out to really be a dragon.

Astrea felt her mouth, imagining if she had the power to make herself look… normal.

The doll looked up at her, hoping that she felt the love it had for her, like the love the dog had for the young woman.

“And they would adventure together forever and ever.”

Astrea fell asleep; the doll soon followed. Their adventures had only begun.

Last edited 2 months ago by WriterOfThought
2 months ago

Draconic Spring Cleaning
by Carrie (Glaceon373)

“Guess what, Zandaidien!” Fraellieth sang as she danced into her brother’s lair.

Two giant glowing eyes opened in thin, tired slits in the darkness of the cave. “What.”

“I’ve thought up the perfect way to help you with your drowsiness problem!” With quick breaths, Fraellieth lit the four torches closest to her.

“It’s not a problem, Frae,” Zandaidien grumbled. “Being tired is fun.”

“Yeah, but even I know twenty-three is too many years for sleeping trouble. So let’s clean up your hoard!”

Suddenly, Zandaidien’s eyes widened, his muscles tensing under his scales. “What do you mean?”

“Just some simple organizing and touching up, is all! Look at this,” she said as she snatched up a crown on the end of a talon. “Are you seriously storing crowns spike-side up, Zan? This was basically stabbing your leg!”

“Fine! Fine.” He stood up, causing a cacophony of metallic clinks and clanks. “Let’s see if reorganizing in here actually helps me sleep better.”

“That’s the spirit!”

The two dragon siblings spent hours sliding Zandaidien’s treasure in and out of different piles. Zandaidien spent much of that time telling Fraellieth to stop touching stuff, and Fraellieth spent most of her time picking up objects and asking what they were and where they should go.

“Let’s put all the spears under my tail,” Zandaidien directed. “And latticed. They’re most supportive that way.”

“See? You’re liking this!” Fraellieth laughed as she dug through more treasure. “Hey, what’s this?”

She lifted up a suit of armor, one that was interconnected like, well…

“Is there a knight’s body in that?” Zandaidien yelled. “Oh great golden heavens, how long has that BEEN there?”

“Long enough to have started to rot, apparently! Eugh!”

Fraellieth torched what remained of the knight’s corpse, scorching the armor along with it. When she had a mess of half-molten metal and ashes left over, she looked at Zandaidien for what to do with it.

“Throw it out the cave,” he ordered. “I can’t believe it. Was I sleeping on a dead human this whole time?”

“Well THAT might explain the past twenty-three years!”

2 months ago

The Cycle of Fear
by Gerrit (Rattus)

“So let me get this straight,” Johra said. “Your plan is to walk into the castle, and just tell the king to step down?”

Quentis nodded as he raised his drink to his lips. When he brought the mug back down, his moustache was coated in a thin layer of foam.

“You expect that to work? Every person in this town is afraid of the king for a reason! He’s not just going to accept your demand and walk away!”

“The fact that everyone is afraid of him is exactly why it will work. Fear is reciprocal, dear Johra. Do you know what bogeymen have their parents check for before they go to sleep?”

“I’m going to assume nothing, considering they’re not real.”

Quentis shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’d be wrong on both accounts. The answer is children. Children fear bogeymen, and so bogeymen fear children. It’s the basic laws of Fin-Fang.”

“I believe you mean Yin-Yang.” Johra gestured for the bartender to bring him another ale. He’d need it if the conversation continued in this direction.

“The Yin-Yang has nothing to do with this.” Quentis took on the tone of a disappointed parent. “Fin-Fang is the concept that creatures with fangs are afraid of creatures with fins, and vice-versa.”

Johra stared at him incredulously.

“Think about it,” Quentis continued. “Have you ever seen a snake fight a shark?”

“Well, no, but that’s because–”

“Exactly! Fear is reciprocal. The people fear the king, and therefore, the king must fear his people.”

“You really think the king fears the common folk?” Johra asked.

“Every ruler does. The only kings who don’t fear their people are the truly amazing and the truly stupid.” Quentis thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, he may not fear them after all.”

Lee Strangely
Lee Strangely
2 months ago

Seeing it Through (Amelia)
by Lee Strangely

The tears of the sky turned the cobbled road into a watery mirror. One that shown back the faces whom all looked down on it as the procession went by. The women in grey led the line, making the path as they went. Eight carried the wooden bed that held the general’s body, while two walked ahead, opening the once silver gates as the others approached.

Once they passed through, one of the gatekeepers started walking towards the procession, only to be stopped by the other. She pulled her back, but immediately retracted her hand as it stung.

“You, you feel quite cold… You must be freezing.” she said.

“I’m alright…” the cold woman replied.
She asked softly, “You wanted to see him one last time?”

“I wanted to see if he was actually dead…”

“I know, hardly anyone can believe it…”

For a moment, there was only the sound of wind and crackling torches.

She seemed to look around before continuing, “I can’t believe it, killed by the same ice witch that killed the prince. At least he was able to kill her with his final breath.”

“Where did you hear that?” the cold woman asked.

“I heard from the soldiers,” she muttered, “that brought his body back from the mountain… Why?”

“Nothing… I just heard differently… that he attacked her, then she killed him.”

She attempted a smile, but faltered, “Either way, he at least died fighting for his kingdom.”

The cold woman ignored her as she headed towards the casket. Looking up at the corpse, she caught one of hands as it laid precariously close to the wood’s edge. Some slivers of ice still clung to his paling flesh.

The other woman then returned to her duties, heading back to close the gates. Once she moved one gate leaf, she went to the other, pausing as her hand felt a thin layer of frost over one of the bars.

She turned back to her, “I-I hope you find peace.”

The cold woman sighed, as if she had been holding her breath, “I have.”

2 months ago

“What Lies Beneath”
By Hemming Sebastian Bane

In the gelid mountain forests lies a false god sealed in stone. He slumbers forever, locked away for attempting to take from the one true Goddess. However, his ambition to acquire the Great She-Wolf’s healing power fosters mad dreams and deprives him true rest. Thus he beckons those wounded in body, mind and spirit to do his bidding.

His secret worshippers gather in darkness and utter prayers using the name he chose after apotheosis, the Blood Nexus. From their prayers, the Blood Nexus grows like a seed, his blood red roots digging chthonic chambers. There his restless growth ingrains itself into the earth and expands into cancerous pods. Within, prayers for reprieve from maladies form structures of blood and bone and flesh and cuticle and stems and mycelia. They coil and writhe as they bind together and create limb and leaf, fang and flower.

These children, called Nexus Scions, emerge from their cocoons into the cave. They then dig out of the earth to slake their hunger for human life. These abominations lay waste to mountain villages, sparing no one. Not even the worshippers of the Blood Nexus. Once sated, the Scions root themselves into the ground and release red spores. These spores induce high fevers and severe coughing. Eventually a blood red fruiting plant sprouts from the body and reconnects its roots to the Scion, which in turn reconnects to the Blood Nexus.

This is why the followers of the Great She-Wolf, Asena, endeavor to stop these events. Without destroying the Nexus Scions or burning the fruiting plants, the seeds dig new chambers and ingrain more Nexus Scions into the earth. And thus, the Blood Nexus’s web of flesh, tendrils and roots grows.

Some foolish oneiromancers – werewolf dreamwalkers – believe entering the dreams of the Blood Nexus may still his restlessness, but no one is foolish enough to dreamwalk in subconscious of a godlike being. So until we starve him or his worship declines, the Nexus Scions come. And the Blood Nexus sleeps, a horrid child grasping at divinity and settling to be a parasite.

2 months ago

The worm at the heart of the mountain
by Aracnarquista

You steel yourself with courage, and temper your determination with righteous anger. You know the trial ahead is a dangerous one. To balance it out, you dream of its possible reward, and take your first step towards the beast in the heart of the mountain.

These dark caves shame light into inexistence. These labyrinthine corridors amplify the sound of each footstep, and you dread the faint echo of your own breathing. In a dragon’s lair, any sound could be a prelude to violence and death. The beast might sleep deeply, but any threat to its wealth will spring it to action… and your only chance of survival is getting it unaware.

Lucky you, the dragon is still fast asleep atop his mountain of riches.

The only problem is that you are wrong in your assumption that the dragon is the most dangerous of the monsters hidden in its lair.

At the heart of the mountain, there lies a beast. A parasitic entity that poisons the hearts of men and monsters, and takes over their dreams. A devilish power that paints your vision of the world in its own hues, making you see each and every thing only in regards as to how it can be used to further the cruel intentions of the parasite.

You don’t come for the dragon. You come for me.

As you progresses through the stony halls, the golden beast the dragon sleeps atop is already worming its way inside you.

What matters to me if I’m handled by hand or claw? True power lies in what I can do, not my “owners”. I can topple kingdoms and build armies. I am not bound by empathy or by the concerns of the living, for living I am not. I’m cold metal and stone, and whichever hand caresses me serves my intents of consolidation and growth.

You can slay a dragon, but what chance do you have against its treasure?

Now, you are in my domains. Claim me, and I will claim you.

For the heart of the mountain is mine.

And so is your own heart.

2 months ago

The Pig Farm
By MasaCur (CW: Abduction, implied torture. Please do not read on stream)

Betty slowly came to, face down on a hardwood floor. She couldn’t move; something bit into her wrists as she tried to pull her hands out front. She turned her head to see where she was, and it felt like her head was still turning when she brought her cheek flat to the floor.

A pair of work boots walked away from her, caked in mud and feces. Slowly, the man inside the boots became visible. Tall, balding, dressed in coveralls. He approached a nearby bed.

Outside, she could hear the grunting of pigs.

“Where…where am I?” Betty asked.

The man looked back at her. “You’re awake already, huh?” he grunted. His face expressed contempt. He turned, and grabbed the bedframe with one hand, lifting it upward, pivoting it into the wall. The man knelt on the floor and pulled open a bolt, then lifted open a trapdoor.

In the thick soup of Betty’s consciousness, she started to realize she was in danger.

“Please, let me go! I won’t say anything!” The words creaked from her throat, like sandpaper on her vocal cords.

The man didn’t respond. He walked over and grabbed her around the waist, then threw her over his shoulder.

“No! Nononononono!” Betty cried.

Outside the pigs started squealing.

“Shut up!” the man growled. “You’re upsetting my hogs.”

Betty sobbed as the man descended the stairs.

He chained her round the neck to the stone wall, then pulled out a knife. Betty let out a scream.

“It’s not time for hurting you yet!” the man snarled. “Keep quiet, or I’ll tape your mouth shut!” He cut the zip tie from her wrists, then, holding her arms in his powerful grasp, he chained her hands to the wall as well.

“Please! Let me go. I just want to see my mom and dad,” Betty cried.

The man turned and walked up the stairs.

“What are you going to do to me?”

The man turned back. “Nothing nice. Not for you anyway.”

He shut the trapdoor, engulfing Betty in darkness.

She could hear the bed lower to the floor.

2 months ago

Why Not?
By Marx

Matt slowly opened his eyes, furrowing his brows at the cause of his interrupted slumber. “You do realize I know you’re there, right?”

The only response was a high-pitched giggle from under the couch.

“Look, I’ve had a very long day. Whatever this is and whoever you are, could you please just… not?”

Another giggle. “She can ‘not’. She can ‘not’ all her Master wishes. She shall remain here and ‘not’ until the end of time.”

Matt let out a long sigh as he peered under the couch. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“She is Not. Just as her Master wished her to be.”

Matt sighed again. “I’m not your Master. And I’m quickly losing my patience. I’m giving you one more chance to answer me.”

In a flash, she was no longer under the couch but floating above him with a huge grin on her face. “Well, the last thing she wishes is to anger him. She wishes to serve him. Her name is Mania! Unless he wishes it to be Not. Then her name is Not.”

After an uncomfortably long pause, Matt sighed a third time. “Nope. Not dealing with an insanity deity right now. Leave.”

Mania flipped upside down and continued to hover. “He stated that he is not her Master and therefore to not follow his orders. Also, she is the goddess of insanity AND death, she’d have him know.”

Matt facepalmed with a loud groan. If Mania was a death deity, that explained everything. She was attracted to his title. But before he could respond, she’d vanished again and he felt her face buried in his hair, deeply inhaling.

“He smells like Deeeeeeath! He’s been in Death’s presence! What’s Death like? Is Death pretty? Is Death a good kisser? She’s always imagined Death as a good kisser.”

“I, Death’s horseman, with the authority of that title, banish you, Mania, from the premises until I’ve finished sleeping. Only then will we… discuss whatever this is.”

Mania had enough time to pout, before vanishing in another burst of light as Matt went back to sleep.

2 months ago

Don’t Wait Up (Chronicles Of The Dragon)
By Makokam

Jonathan silently climbed in through the window to his room. He paused and, not hearing anyone awake, sighed and started removing his bloody and burned clothes. He took a cleaner bit of his shirt to wipe off the worst of the blood from his face, before kicking his clothes under his desk. He’d deal with those later.

What he needed right now was a shower.

He went to the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Then started scrubbing the blood, and the smell of smoke and burnt flesh off of him.

Stepping out of the shower, the water quickly steaming off of him, Jonathan went to the mirror. Checking for hard to hide injuries, he found only a faint burn on his neck, and some superficial scratches on his lower legs. The bullet and stab wounds on his torso were easy, but the hole in his forearm meant long sleeves would be a must for a couple days.

He leaned on the sink, staring into the mirror. It was meant to be a simple hunting trip in the next town, but he’d put it off for too long. He got careless. Too excited.

Things got messy. And loud.

He shook his head, then went back to his room.

An old set of pajamas would suffice for tonight and the morning. After that-

“Snrrk mep”

He whirled, looking around his room. The noise had come from his bed. Jonathan crouched down and found his little sister curled up and asleep.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging her with his hand, “Wake up.”

She squirmed and stretched before opening an eye.

“What are you doing under there?”

She rubbed at her eyes. “I was gonna scare you.” She looked up at him. “Boo.”

“Gah,” he said sitting back. She smiled and he reached a hand out. “C’mon, let’s get you into your bed.”

She reached out her hand and he pulled her out, then picked her up. She immediately put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, as he carried her to her room.

Last edited 2 months ago by Makokam