They're Already Here

"Mommy! Mommy! Help, it's chasing me!"

My four-year-old crashed into our bedroom dressed in his Toy-Story pajamas, wild-eyed and hysterical. Leaping onto our bed, he burrows beneath the blankets, shaking and crying.

"Good grief. He needs to learn to sleep in his own bed," my husband griped, tired of this constant nightly battle that began shortly after Jimmy's fourth birthday.

"Jimmy, sweetie, what is chasing you?" I asked gently, trying to peel him off my leg.

"There's monsters in my room, an one got out and is trying to eat me."

Why are humans always so afraid of being eaten by something? We're usually the ones doing the eating, if grocery stores mean anything.

"There's no such thing as monsters, Jimmy. You need to be a big boy and go to sleep in your own bed," my husband scolded, mostly because he wanted to be the one grabbing my leg.

"Daddy, I can't. It's got red eyes and horns and fangs and sharp teeth. I think it's an alien. It's all hairy all over his back, and he's got lots of skinny legs that make him run fast. Don't make me go back."

"You're being a big baby, Jimmy. You're four years old now. That's too old to be crying over a bad dream, son."

"Sweetheart, he's scared to death. Just let him be. I'll take him back after he's asleep," I offered.

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"NOOOOOOOOOO! If I'm asleep it'll get me for sure!" Jimmy screamed, waking his little sister in the next room.

"Shit. Rock, paper, scissors?" My husband asked.

"Nevermind. You stay here with Jimmy, and I'll feed Rebecca. You big baby," I snarled.

It was going to be another one of those nights. We'd be dragging through our day tomorrow by glugging caffeine to stay awake. Then, we'd be too wired to sleep, and the cycle would go on and on. Ugh.

Have children, they said. They will be a blessing, they said. What they didn't say was we'd be too exhausted to enjoy the damned blessings.

I warmed a bottle for the baby and settled into the comfy armchair to feed her. Sometime while she ate I drifted off to sleep. There it was, the huge alien with the red eyes and horns. Its black, hairy legs were moving at lightning speed. The jaws were working ravenously, and the needle-like teeth and fangs were slavering.

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Although I tried to run, the air had turned to mud, and all I could do was wade sluggishly through the morass, trying to put distance between myself, Rebecca, and the alien monster that was attacking us.

No, it wasn't an alien from outer space. This was a demon from the underworld. Satanic, evil, dark, malevolent, and so frightening that it horrified me to think such a thing existed.

When I shook myself awake and looked around, there was nothing evil in the living room. I was borrowing Jimmy's dream. Poor Jimmy. What a scary thing to imagine. Where on earth did this vision he described so clearly come from?

Not wanting to leave Rebecca alone in her crib with these nightmares wandering the house, I brought her to bed with me, snuggling her between myself and a pillow. My husband had taken Jimmy back to his room and was probably trying to get him calmed down and back to sleep.

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I looked at the clock for the tenth time, 3 AM. Why do we do that? We can't sleep, so we watch the clock to see just how sleep-deprived we'll be in the morning.

Jimmy must have convinced his Daddy to stay and protect him because I awoke by myself, with a squirming, wet baby in the bed. I quickly changed her and laid her back down in the crib, then stripped our bed and threw everything into the washer.

It was almost 6 AM, and if Roy didn't get ready for work soon he'd be late. After putting the coffee on and making some toast I crept to Jimmy's room, hoping to wake only Roy.

But there was no Roy there. No Jimmy either. The bed was mussed, like they'd had a pillow fight, and the Toy Story pajamas were shredded and left lying on the floor, half under the bed.

"This isn't funny. Where are you guys?" I yelled.

While picking up the torn pj's, I looked under the bed, to make sure there were no monsters hiding. Roy's underwear was also ripped and lying in pieces, covered in something wet and sticky. Yuck.

With their clothing in hand, I began searching the house for signs of what had happened overnight. We lived in a relatively safe community. The only crimes currently being committed were dogs pooping in neighbor's yards, while their owners looked the other way.

There were no traces of them in the bathroom, the kitchen or the livingroom, so I cautiously ventured outside. Both cars were in the driveway, which meant Roy hadn't taken Jimmy for a ride to get his mind off the nightmare.

With my heart thudding in my throat, I slowly pulled open the rusted metal garage door. It yeilded a half inch at a time with an unearthly squeal. Too scared to look inside, I could hear chewing noises and grunts echoing off the cavernous space that was filled with neatly organized tools, stacked paint cans and leftover linoleum from Roy's last remodeling attempts.

My hands, coated with anxious sweat, kept slipping off the handle as I struggled to raise the old door in it's crooked tracks. Strange, buzzing, "Veep-veep," chittering filled the air beyond the metal barrier I so desperately tried to open. Whatever was in there, there was an army of them.

When the door was opened knee-high, I bent to peek inside. Before I could look, a black, hairy tentacle wrapped itself around my ankle, pulling me off my feet and dragging me into the bloody horror story that Jimmy and Roy had succumbed to.