“Mommy, Daddy, please! I don’t wanna go to bed yet!” the six year old whined. Considering his age, this wasn’t the first time that George and Lillian had heard this protest.

“But Mikey, if you don’t go to bed, you won’t be able to get up and play with everyone else at school tomorrow,” Lillian countered.

This was how it usually went, Lillian would put the child’s mind at ease—or at least attempt to, and George would watch from afar. He wasn’t usually very helpful in these kinds of situations. Tonight however, George was more than likely going to have to step up to the plate. Lillian was going out to have dinner with her co-workers. She was only going to be able to stay for another ten minutes.

“Mommy, I can’t go to bed yet! I have too much left to do! I have to set up traps…” the child trailed off in thought, seeming to get lost in his schemes.

“Traps?” Lillian asked, a smirk snuck it’s way across her lips, as though she thought the child was joking.

“What on earth would you need to trap Mikey?” George could have told her the answer, the child gave the same one every night. He couldn’t help but hope that tonight however, would be different.

“Well, I can’t let the monster under my bed get out and come get you and Daddy.” The child beamed, as though he felt his parents should be proud of him.

“Michael! We have been over this a thousand times.” Lillian rolled her eyes, exasperated. “There are no monsters under your bed, because monsters don’t exist.”

The child began to pout, almost as if someone had taken away his favorite toy. “But mommy, yes there are! I’ve seen him! He’s mean, and he always says mean things about you and daddy!” the child tried to plead, but it wasn’t going to work.

George decided, simply to indulge the child, to ask him a couple questions. He knew in the end it would annoy Lillian, but he was just obnoxious enough to try it. "What kind of mean things does the monster say he will do to us, buddy?"

"Oh, Daddy, he says things that the bad kids get in trouble for saying at preschool! He says that he'll throw things and bite you!" The boy was almost frighteningly serious in his conviction, in fact the child looked so serious, George really had to fight to keep from laughing.

“That’s enough, Michael! Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed,” Lillian said in her best no-nonsense-mom voice.

“But…” the child began to argue.

“No buts Michael, go now or no desserts for a month” Lillian said sternly.

George had to fight the urge to laugh. He knew that was a threat that would get him to hurry up and do what he was told. Taking away that boy’s desserts was like taking away a drug addict’s drug of choice. You would start to see signs of withdrawal in minutes. The boy turned and sulked up the stairs.

Lillian turned and smiled at her husband, and George smiled back. “Now,” Lillian said as she picked up her purse. “Make sure he is in bed by seven, or he will be impossible in the morning.”

George laughed as though he thought that Lillian was merely over exaggerating in order to make it seem like a bigger deal, but after a dagger-piercing glare, he got the message. “Yes, honey,” he said. George knew there was no way of trying to make light of the situation. He had watched the boy and Lillian go round and round before over getting ready for the day, and it always seemed to get worse when the child had gotten less sleep than usual.

After that, Lillian picked up her purse and smiled. “Great, you have a good night, and your dinner is in the oven, all you have to do is open it up.” She said as she slipped into her shoes. She kissed George on the cheek as she opened the door, “Love you!”

“I love you too. Have a good time.” George said.

He stood and watched Lillian back out of the drive before closing the door and locking it for the night. As he stood there, watching her leave, he couldn't help but think about how much he hated his new job. Truthfully, it wasn't new at this point, but it still felt kind of different. It kept him out far too late, even on the weekends. It kept him from getting to read so many stories to the boy in the room upstairs. It kept him from helping his wife. He really had no idea why he chose to stay in such a place. Ah, wait, yes he did. It puts bread on the table, George remarked to himself and sighed.

George turned around to head up the stairs. He wasn’t looking forward to this. Sure, he could tell a story well, but he wasn’t exactly very good at the whole tuck-him-in part. The child always found a way to con George into reading him another story, and then another, and then another. It was like a vicious cycle. Sighing, George readied himself as he opened the door. “Hey buddy, ready for a story?” George smiled at the child.

“Yes, Daddy...” The child seemed resigned, almost as if he had been condemned to the gallows.

“Why so glum, chum? There’s nothing to be sad about,” George said, the situation was beginning to make him uncomfortable. He reached down and picked up the boy’s favorite story from his bedside table. He took a moment to briefly thank the lord that it wasn’t a long one..

“How about your favorite story tonight? That should cheer you up.”

At the sound of this, the child perked up a bit. George began to read. As soon as he finished, he took a deep breath and let the last word almost blur together, “And they all lived happily ever after, The End.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like water over a cliff side. He was elated to be done.

“Daddy, before you leave, can you do something for me?” The child asked.

George groaned internally before he smiled, “Of course bud, whatchya need?”

“Will you look under my bed and check for monsters?” The child looked almost terrified as he requested this. George had to resist the urge to laugh.

“If it’ll help you get to sleep, I’ll buy the Great Wall of China.” George smiled as he got off the bed and knelt on the floor. He felt ridiculous on the floor like this, but he knew it was his golden ticket to being done for the night. George pressed his cheek to the floor, lifted up the edge of the boy’s comforter, and froze in shock. Lying there, in front of him, was something that should have been impossible.

“Daddy, there’s something on my bed” a small child that looked exactly like George’s boy said in the same way that George’s child would have said it.