I was upstairs. There was a monster downstairs. He came home when it turned dark, and he stayed until morning. He never came upstairs. He liked sleeping downstairs, on my daddy's couch. He knew my name, but I did not know how. He roared at my mother, who was always in the kitchen when he came. She couldn't run. She was always attacked by him. By it. Sometimes, when it was still angry, it would come after me, knock on my door, threatening to hurt me. I stayed in the corner, huddled with a picture of my father.

   It happened one night that my mother shot the monster. I came downstairs to see the monster. It was face down on the floor in its own pool of blood. My mother was sitting at the table, weeping. I saw the face of the monster. It looked like my daddy.