[ WP ] the monster in the closet finally lures the child into the darkness , only to realize something is very very wrong

Ive watched them sleep for an eternity. Before man walked, I was there. When he discovered fire, I watched from the shadows. I saw his children teach their children and the children after them that I was but a dream, and I relished my Anonymity. 
 
 I am known by many names. Whatever you call me in whatever land you slept in as a child, deep down inside you know who I am: I am he who has no name. I am the lurker under your bed, the gatherer of shadows in your deepest closet, and the fuel for your worst childhood nightmares. No child wakes up at 3 am to get a glass of water or use the bathroom without considering the consequences of breaking an ageless pack set into play between myself and humanities children before the dawn of man. UNTIL THE DAYLIGHT, YOUR FLOOR BELONGS TO ME! 
 
 O how I relish the chance to drag my claws across a young, innocent ankle as it sends delicious shivers of fear up their fragile little spines and into their tiny brains. There is no treat sweeter than the anticipatory fear a child has just before the mad dash across a bedroom floor, to scared to rest their little toes to close to the bed, lest I reach out and snatch them! 
 
 Tonight Ive been watching Charlie get ready for bed. Hes an unusual one, this Charlie. Ive yet to taste his fear even once, and Ive been watching him all day. I stare at him trying to discern his emotional state, but he is like a burnt out television, only showing the same single emotionless frame over and over, like an emergency broadcast during a storm warning. 
 
 He fascinates me. Why cant I feel him? Why cant I taste him? His eyes are so dead. Even as he looks at things, even as he talks to people, he is simply a blank canvas, a chalkboard with no writing on it. Breaking him will be a delight, and his fear will be as sweet on my palate as a fine wine. 
 
 As his mother tucks him in, I anticipate my moment and gather myself for the leap. As soon as she turns the lights out The Pact is in effect, everyone knows that. Usually I wait until a mother pulls the door closed because I like the privacy, but tonight I cant wait. As the light switch flips I pull the shadows close and using the darkness as my shield I leap across the room, sliding under the bed as expertly as a baseball player stealing home. As soon as I relax my control the shadows slip back out from under the bed and settle across the room, perched on their original locations before I commanded them. 
 
 The boy lays above me silently on his back, hands down to his side like a corpse in a casket, unmoving. He is so different this one. I rotate my ears forward, straining to hear his breathing so as to measure his state of relaxation. Is he breathing? I cant tell. Straining to listen, I find myself up against a blank wall. He makes no noise, as if he is invisible sonically.As a last resort, I try to smell him. I have never, in all of my eons not been able to smell a child's emotional state from under a bed. Reluctantly I take in a long, deep breath, pulling in the residual smells from the house. Usually I reserve this deep breath from under the bed for the moment when the child first wakes up deep in the darkness of night, when they feel most alone and vulnerable, so as to maximize the audio effect on the child hearing it. After all, presentation is everything in this game. But not tonight. Tonight is special. I just HAVE to know whats so different about this boy. 
 
 Drawing in the houses air I taste the perfume on the mother in the bathtub down the hall, the fathers pipe weed sitting on a desk downstairs, the food on the plates in the dishwasher. I can smell the bike chain grease on the floor of the garage and the dogs empty food bowl outside near his doghouse. I can even smell the tiniest hint of mulberry from the tree across the street at the neighbors, but I can not smell the child. Its as if he is made out of bricks. No not bricks, because bricks have a smell. Its as if hes made out of void, nothing, a vacuum. I have never seen anything like it. 
 
 Curiosity, hunger and anticipation. These are things that I do n't feel very often. I am immortal and those are human feelings. Yet as I sit here under the bed I realized that I am indeed feeling them, and realizing this has made the anticipation of feeding on the boy even more tantalizing. Finally, unable to take it any more I resolve to try the last trick in my book first, right off the top. I need to push this kid, hard, and I am curious as to how far I will have to go before he cracks. His fear will be so delicious I think to myself, and began my crawl. 
 
 Slipping to the edge of the bed I peak out from under the covers and gather the shadows to me once more. Quickly they dash to me from every corner of the room, once again gathered and cloaking me in darkness. For a brief second I marvel at the beauty the moonlight has splayed out within the room devoid of darkness, leaving it improperly awash and imbalanced of its light and shadow. For a brief moment the room is a photographic negative, as foreign and alien a place to a child's mind as the surface of the moon. I use this technique often, to maximize the drama and surprise of my entrance. The initial burst of blind fear from the child when I spring up from the bed in all my monstrous glory is usually enough to satiate me itself, making the rest of the session nothing but delicious desert. 
 
 Reaching my full height I let the shadows slip back to their origins and spread my arms wide. Grimacing my widest grimace I reveal my teeth and let my forked tongue slip forth a hiss that is reminiscent of a 25 foot Anaconda in the bush. Simultaneously growling a deep primitive growl in my chest the likes of which could only be found inside the heart of a Rottweiler raised on pain and misery in Hell itself, I spread my arms wide to reveal my scale covered arms that end in child rending claws complete with long, curved black talons. Turning to face the bed I reveal my toothy grimace and say those 10 words that have been sending children screaming for their mommies before Jesus walked the Earth: `` Behold! For I am the monster from under your........... What the fuck?'' 
 
 There is no child in the bed. Clearly there is an imprint in the sheets where a child just was, but now, nothing. 
 
 `` Hello'' the voice says behind me, calm and collected. 
 
 Slowly turning, grimace still firmly in place, clawed hands still spread wide in an obviously aggressive posture, I face him. There he sits in the wheelchair, neatly dressed in his pajamas, tiny glasses gleaming in the moonlight. 
 
 `` Thanks for waiting for Mom to leave, she would n't understand. Ive been waiting to talk to you all day. Have a seat, we have a lot to discuss.'' 
 
 Turning the left wheel on his chair twice, Charlie twist his wheelchair to a night table and motions towards a pitcher of water and a glass. 
 
 `` Can I offer you a drink?''
