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

**EDITY-EDIT-EDITEE: Thanks for all of the interest! I have decided that since so many want a continuation of this story, and I am unsure if it's polite to finish it on here, that I will finish it on a new subreddit. Head on over to my subreddit https: //www.reddit.com/r/TinyCafes/ ( no i am not going to properly link it because once again, I ca n't do things ) I promise I will finish! Thanks again! ** 
 
 I looked down at the child, repulsed. 
 She looked at me enduringly, satisfied that she had a new furry friend. Her eyes were the bluest blue. She looked so pure, so innocent. 
 *So delicious*. 
 `` Are you the good guy?'' She asked me, cautiously holding onto her octopus plushie as if I intended to steal it from her. What did she mean, was I the `` good guy''? She was about four years old, at the age where she understood to a point what was happening. I was the monster of her nightmares, the thing that lived in the shadows, the -- - 
 She was hugging me. 
 Her tiny hands barely made it a quarter around my feathery abdomen, but she held on tightly. 
 `` You must be. I prayed for you! You're going to take me away.'' She said it so genuinely and excitedly that I was n't sure if she was fully awake or if she was sleep walking. 
 Monsters, or creatures or whatever title you choose, do n't usually speak to children - or any human for that matter. I found myself, despite my inner protests, forming a sentence. 
 `` What do you mean, am I the `` good guy''?'' I asked, trying to be uncaring but somehow my voice sounded quite calm. Almost *paternal*. 
 She was shy now. She turned away, and sat cross-legged on the floor, the moonlight streamed in through her tiny window. She was hugging her octopus tightly. She seemed to really love that damned thing; it was missing an eye and one of the orange tentacles was coming unstitched. 
 `` Are n't you mine?'' She asked me quietly, the disappointment in her voice muffled in the back of her plushie. `` You are just like in the dream!'' She said it quietly still, but wildly. 
 I took a step next to her, and lay my claws and head beside her. I do n't know what came over me. I do n't know why I did n't snatch her up right there. 
 `` Tell me more about this dream, child.'' 
 I struck a chord with her: she turned to face me, her tiny mouth quivering as she sat up straight. Her brows were furrowed in thought, her young mind attempting to explain something that she had probably never spoken about before. I anticipated the story to be about a nightmare she had, after all, some children were very intuitive. My kind spoke about it at great length, how eerie it was that children would often be awake in their beds, *waiting* for our arrival. Although it was uncommon for a child to be truly horrified, it had never been reported for a child to be absolutely without fear all together. And this child was more than unafraid, she was welcoming and hopeful. As if I was an old friend. 
 `` When the bad man comes, I close my eyes... and think about you. You're always there, that's why you're the good guy!'' She said it with great conviction, with such faith that one of my hearts skipped a beat. 
 `` Who is the bad man?'' I found myself concerned for the answer. Who was this man, that incited such fear into this young child that a monster like me was cause for celebration? I was sure that [ El Coco ] ( https: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coco_ ( folklore ) ) was not working this area, as he was banned to only working with children who really *did* misbehave. And [ Torbalan, ] ( https: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sack_Man ) despite being in the area temporarily, had a thing for boys. 
 My thoughts were interrupted by a downstairs door slamming followed by scuffling and someone, perhaps male, mumbling. 
 She looked at me with her blue eyes. Her sad blue eyes. Although I had claws, those pupils cut into me deeper than any gash I could cause. 
 `` He's home.'' 
 
 *insert line here that I do n't know how to make. also, the above part of the story COULD be considered finished, so only continue reading if you want a continuation of the story* 
 
 The sound of the staircase straining to hold beneath the man ’ s heavy boots was an eerie scream of wood, as if he was intentionally crushing the stairs. 
 Thwump. 
 My hearts were racing, and the child had herself buried in my chest, her head wedged between me and her octopus. 
 Thwump. 
 Shivers tingled down my spines, sending chills all throughout my body. 
 Thwump. 
 The *bad man* was outside the bedroom. 
 We could both feel as he reached his hand to turn the doorknob, and as he creaked the door open the room was filled with the scent of stale tobacco and brandy. I could hear his chest breathing, raspy and wasted. 
 The whole house moaned, it was screaming for us to hide. 
 Everything felt so slow, but I could feel her heart racing next to me. The door was opening, he was coming in — 
 *ring* 
 A telephone rang from downstairs. He paused in his tracks, his body still covered by shadows. 
 *ring* 
 He let out an annoyed sigh, and slammed the door. He locked the door from the outside. His footsteps trailed down the hallway and back down the stairs, even heavier than before. A distant “ hello ” came from downstairs as he answered the call. 
 I brought myself closer to the little girl, as if to comfort her but knowing that it was I who was frightened. I had never felt a rush like that before, for my kind had no known predators. She looked at me, then stood up and walked to a chest that was full of dolls. Some were partially broken, naked and missing hair. Others were delicate porcelain or made of cheap cloth. She, still holding onto her dear octopus, picked up a doll that was missing its legs and began to comb its hair. I decided that for the time being, she was alright. 
 I looked around the room for the first time since my arrival. It had the usual kid wares; toys, poorly drawn crayon pictures, a nightlight. There were bars on the tiny window that the moon leaked through. The bars were redundant, as even the little girl was too small to squeeze herself through. 
 It occurred to me that this room was *odd*: the ceilings hung too low, and it was occupied by cold air and a mildewy smell. The air felt almost damp. 
 I continued to search around the room, speculating whether or not I should just leave. The girl invited me to come play with her, her eyes shining like two pools of moonlight. She looked at me intently, as if trying to distract me. 
 That ’ s when I saw the camera in the corner of the room. 
 It finally hit me. This was not her room. 
 This was not her home. 
 The man who spoke on the phone below us was not her father, uncle or brother. 
 She was not his child. 
 She was his prisoner. 
 “ Molly, who are you talking to? ” The diminutive voice startled me. I turned my head towards the bed, and realized it was a bunk bed. On the top bunk, there sat a little boy, about the age of six. 
 “ Oh, he showed up. ” He was frowning. Although he was talking to Molly, he was looking at me. 
 He had been expecting me. 
 
 
 
 
 
 **Edit: I really want to finish this, but I am drinking now and am going to start making typos/distracted by people. Sorry for the tease!! 
 Edit edit: Fair warning, if it's shitty, it's because I am drinking but I will make it better. I have the technology. 
 Edit edit edit: Thank you SO much for all of the positive ( and negative ) feedback and wanting more! I will finish it, I swear. Today is Pride where I live though. Once again, being `` human'' and having a `` social life''. I promise it will be done though! 
 EDIT EDIT EDIT: Everyone needs to stop assuming this story is about child abuse. Okay, I mean yes I wrote it so it may *sound* like that, but why does everyone think it'd be the dad? Come on people. Anyway, I have written a bit more but am hangover again. You know it goes, writers being drunks and all that. It may not be the best right now but wait a few more hours and I will edit it, shine it up and blow your minds with this twist. **
