The monster was no longer under the bed. Or in the closet. The kid had invited it out to play, one day, and the monster cautiously approached, a bashful look on its face. They played cards and the monster excelled at Old Maid. The monster remembered its home in hell, where its parents used to play rummy and bridge at a small card table nestled in an eddy beside the Great River of Blood. The monster missed all the other monsters. He came from a large monster family.
The kid looked straight at him and was not scared. He asked him all sorts of questions a kid might ask a monster, if he could stop screaming. A really nice kid for a human. Exceptional. Rare. The kid felt the same about the monster. The monster did not even have to change into a human or something less monstrous. He could show his true feelings and remain a monster. They could suck on bomb pops and jump off the garage into giant piles of leaves. He would teach the boy Scaring 101. Damn it felt good to be a monster.
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