There’s a monster in the house

"Momma!" "Momma!"

Four year old Adam cried out with such agitated alarm that his mother reflexively beamed herself out of her bed and into his room with the g-force of a lightning bolt. The clock read 12:01 am when she came to his aid questioningly,

"What's wrong baby. What's wrong?"

Words she almost expected but hoped she wouldn't hear sprang from his mouth like vomit,

"The monster! He's back!"

She calmly practiced parental restraint. Before she fell asleep she had been reading the book, Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids. She was determined to do everything within her power to be the mother to Adam she did not have and surmised what was bothering him, but would not spoon feed the words, would not go negative, and instead was intent on descalting his fear. Knowing the panic in her son's eyes she searched the galaxy wallpaper covering the wall nobly for a proper way to respond to him, as if a coded explanation should be written there; discernible hieroglyphics scattered amongst the planets offering sound parental advice,

"Oh dear Adam. There is no monster. It was just a bad dream. A nightmare." She sat down beside him, took a deep long breath, in and out, and stroked his blond locks lovingly, longing for his infancy, and the predawn ritual of nursing him by moonlight.

"Mommy gets them sometimes too. Come her my big boy," and she pulled him into her breast and he nuzzled her, with the same reminiscence. It was all she could do to hold back her tears. How had things gone so desperately wrong? Doubts flooded the room, seeping in through the cracked window, adding to the insecurity already permeating her pores.

"Can I alone be a good parent? Can I raise a good son? Can I protect him from evil?"

The brave little boy wiped his tears, as his father and grandfather always demanded of him. "Straighten up. Be strong." He wasn't sure how to properly respond to their commands, but he did his best to mimic, the first and most effective method of childhood education.

"I know you get the nightmares too." Adam said boldly as if he now owned the room. There was no observable evidence in his virginal face that he was still afraid, whatsoever and his mother was somewhat relieved. But then he said, "I heard you talking to Aunt Dawn about the monster."

And his mother tried hard to stay composed, searching her own database for a truthful answer, one he could comprehend. "Breath in breath out"..... she reminded herself, technically talking herself off the emotional cliff, causing her hand to drop from his forehead and it hit the bed with a thud. Adam abruptly pressed against his headboard, his body gesturing his desire to disconnect.

"What exactly did you hear me saying to Aunt Dawn?" Her tone was hesitant, feeble.

Adam stared her down resolutely, dismissively. "Oh nothing. Nevermind. Mommy. You can go back to bed now. The monster is gone."

But she couldn't move, paralyzed with fear, not from her son's sudden change of heart, from her own ears taking in the sound that signaled the monster had just approached within close proximity. The look in her son's eyes told her he heard what she heard too, but his reaction did not match hers. The mustang engine pulling in their driveway was distinct. Powerful. Strong; the walls and foundation of the house weak. Each day they crumbled a bit more. Sunk. Lower.

"Daddy's home," Adam said, and although he had released her, she inched back closer to her son, reaching for him, instinctively, every fiber of her being wanting to protect him; to protect herself from the monster. She pulled him back into her breast forcefully wanting nothing more than to shield him, and before the monster could turn the handle of the front door, Adam bore down hard with his teeth sawing into her right breast, drawing blood, looking up at her with utter contempt. An insane familiar smirk washed over him as his innocence floated away. Yes he had been taught well by the monster as his little eyes watched and trained to become just another victim within the family line of chips off the old block; their path written inside a family manual of instructions titled, Like father. Like son.