An Exercise in Listening

Kyle sat laser focused on the door to his closet or what he thought to be the gates of Hell. He was certain he had heard it creak. He paused. All was silent. There was only a slight whistle that came from his nose as he exhaled intermittently—this was done with purpose so as not to alert whatever in the hell was in his closet. Kyle had learned that if he focused his sight in a particular manner, the darkness would subside and at a minimum, he could make out silhouettes of the objects contained therein. In an instant, the shadowy figures would be brought to life. A snarling dragon with piercing green eyes appeared, and its fangs dripped with the blood of its victims, and a baseball glove, and a sweater that his grandma bought him for Christmas. Scared to watch, and even more scared to look away, he would sit motionless for hours, appearing almost lifeless while peering into his closet. Vigilantly attempting to spy all types of monstrosities. This would command yet another sleepless night.

The morning was announced by his mother. Kyle popped up from under his protective cloak of bedding and ran down the hall towards the smell of bacon. His mother knew his familiar approaching rapid patter, and had his plate waiting as he slid sideways into his chair at the dinner table, stopping himself with his hands placed on both sides of his plate. She knew better than to ask about his night, but today she couldn’t help herself. In times past his story-telling translated into tardy marks for class. “Still checking for the monster under your bed?”, she asked. “Mom, I’ve told you a hundred times, there’s no monsters under my bed. There is a dragon in my closet”. He saw no need to attest to the reality of the baseball glove and sweater, for they were as real as the dragon. His mom giggled, “Well, be sure and jump clear, you never know.” With an eye roll he hid the fact that he, without fail, always launched himself away from any outstretched monster arms when exiting his bed. He smiled and she pecked him on his cheek sure to leave some lipstick. “Ewe”, he groaned—in the typical ten year old boy fashion. Breakfast was no more and Kyle scampered out the door and off to school. Soon the school bell rang and class had started. Any kind of focus escaped him and every time a door creaked he found himself back in his room wondering if the dragon would first go for his throat or fry him with his fiery breath.

Now, with the school day ended and Kyle back at home, he was put to task—he was formulating an offensive against the dragon. However, he never seemed to get beyond the part where he takes the first step out of bed.

It was again time for bed. He found himself, same as always, peering into his closet, nestled tightly under his SpongeBob blankets and in his SpongeBob pajamas—yet another two gifts from grandma. These items, along with a scarf and a tattered SpongeBob doll, of course, were the entirety of armaments available to dispatch his enemy. Tonight it was going to be his throat; Kyle was certain the dragon was going to start at his throat. This was nothing that his scarf, double-wrapped of course, could not thwart. With his eyes heavy and him crushing it in the staring contest, he started to doze off. Then there was the familiar creak. Slowly the appearance of glowing embers manifested into eyes, as well as the baseball glove and the sweater. This was confirmation that the dragon had returned. Slumber was no longer an option. The paranoia set in and the one dragon became three. Kyle felt as though the stand-off that he for so long had dominated was now unbalanced. It was now six to two and he was getting crushed—the dragon eyes had him. Now outnumbered, he could only surmise that the three dragons were working together and plotting his timely demise. He no longer had a plan of attack nor could he retreat. It was as though Medusa herself had cast a spell via the dragons. This played well and stopped him from mounting an attack and left him defenseless against any offensive. His enemies could no longer be dispatched.

In the silence Kyle believed he heard a whisper. Why would the dragons be talking to me? Am I about to get eaten? Are they friendly? Is one of my teeth loose? His mind, in overdrive, was now working against him and the fear and paranoia piqued. Kyle could hear his name being uttered and mixed with his thoughts. But through the darkness on the night, only fangs and flames shown from their mouths, he couldn’t tell which dragon was speaking. Kyle offered back softly, “Hello?” There was no answer. The door creaked a little more, and to Kyle’s surprise, three more dragons appeared. As quick as the hair on his neck could stand, so did Kyle. Stoically postured and with clenched fists, he supposed that now would be his last chance to escape before dragons overran his room and it was reduced to a charred mess and his mangled, lifeless body was being tugged in opposite directions in a dragon battle for “the good parts”. He slammed back down on the bed and over his head went the covers.

“It’s ok”, in a whisper, came from outside of the covers. For a moment he thought the voice was internal but soon decided against it. He pushed the covers down ever so slightly below the crown of his nose. “Hello”, he whispered back, once again. Still, the dragon's mouths failed to move. Telepathy, he thought to himself, it had to be telepathy. If there could be dragons, then telepathy was not much of a leep. This fostered a sense of relief. If he could communicate, he could plead his case for life instead of becoming a meal. The paranoia and fear began to subside. Now, with his newfound courage and composure, he could finally look around and reassess his predicament. And as he looked away and scanned the room, in the darkness, he could see a crescent shaped glow and in an instant he knew it must be a smile. “Come”, echoed the voice, softly in the night air. Kyle, both curious and a bit relieved, decided to take the olive branch and his fear became an instant affinity for the dragons as his impatience for an encounter grew. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to slay the dragons after all. Perhaps they were nice. Perhaps show-and-tell next week would be one to remember. Already, Kyle was picking their names. His courage had finally shown itself and Kyle was decidedly heading over to his closet and coming away with a whole new set of friends. Grinning ear to ear, he planted his feet squarely in front of his bed. But while he was attempting to whisper, “I’m coming”, he felt an intense pain in his face and chest, and he slammed forward onto the floor with an echoing thud. He could feel the gnarled claws grip his legs as he was being drug under his bed. His arms flailed while his nails scored the hardwood, leaving claw marks of his own. Too terrified to scream he could only hear the sound of his body thrashing against the floor and a voice growling, “It’s ok, come.” The struggle soon ceased, all was once again at peace. The night was now silent.

Once again, Kyle’s mother sounded the morning alarm, but this time it was Saturday. “Be a dear and get that lazy boy out of bed, he’s probably been up all night fighting dragons''. His mother requested. Kyle’s dad peaked from down the hall and yelled back to his wife. “I guess he’s already run off, and he left his closet open, and all those damned stuffed toys your mother keeps buying are scattered on the floor!” His dad passed his eyes around the room once more, scanning for the boy. She once more replied, “He’s gone, already?” “Yeah, I guess so, unless the monster got him. You did tell him about the monster didn’t you?”. “I did", she offered while shaking her head side to side and flipping the bacon, "but you know how that boy never listens.”