My Dad has always been loving and caring for his entire life. He’s looked after me, raised me and quite frankly spoiled me since I was a little girl. I always remembered the times he comforted me when I was scared and cuddled me when I was sad. I told him over and over again: “You're the best daddy in the world”. Embarrassingly, I even used to say it when I was a teenager. My brother went missing when I was young and it seems like Dad poured all of his love into me as a way to compensate.

My Dad had a stroke last week. I got the call from my Mum, who was short and sharp as usual, calling me to the hospital. I went and held my Dad’s hand whilst he looked at me, frozen in the terrified expression he’d had when the stroke hit him. I cried over him for what seemed like a whole day. I decided the next day to pull myself together. I told dad I was going to go and get him some more clothes and personal effects to hopefully help his recovery. I swear i saw his heart rate spike on the monitor as I walked out, but maybe I’m just remembering it wrong in light of what I know now.

I got to the house and made my way up to Dad’s room. I gathered some shirts, some comfortable sweatpants, and opened his drawer to get some personal effects. I was shocked to find a tightly bound set of pages, which seemed to be handwritten. The first page read:

‘HOW TO BE A GOOD DAD: A GUIDE TO LOVE AND DISCIPLINE BY ANDREW BAUER’. Dad had written a book? About parenting? I flicked through it and stopped on a page, and began to read.

“Behave or a monster will come and get you!”

That was the line my wife Lucy always used to scare my daughter Sarah. Sarah was a sweet girl, only eight, and it worked on her every time. Playing too loudly in the garden? A monster will come and get you. Not eating all of her peas at dinner? A monster will come and get you. Not tidying her room? A monst… yeah, you get the point. Until she started seeing an actual monster, that is.

It was a boring midweek evening and I was watching TV with a beer when Sarah came up to me and snuggled alongside me. I wrapped my arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She turned to me and nervously said

“Daddy, can I ask you something?”. I smiled at her and replied:

“Yes of course sweetie, what’s up?”. She paused, looking around with innocent wide eyes, and then turned her attention back to me.

“Are monsters real?”. I laughed, bringing the attention of Lucy from the other room. She walked in holding a glass of water, and joined in the conversation.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, sitting down on the chair next to the sofa me and Sarah were sat on.

“Sarah wants to know if monsters are real.” I said, smiling. Lucy laughed too. We assured our little girl that monsters aren't real and that there was nothing to be scared of. Sarah looked at both of us, and swallowed hard. She wanted to ask something else, I could tell. I snuggled her a little closer to me and gave her an encouraging squeeze on her arm.

“Wha… what if a monster comes and gets me like the one that took Michael?” she said, her childish voice trembling. Lucy’s grip on her glass of water turned so tight her knuckles started to whiten, and I gritted my teeth hard. We didn’t talk about Michael. He is, was, whatever the fuck you want to say, our son. He went missing about a year ago, and since then Lucy can’t even bear to hear his name. Sarah had long learnt better than to talk about him lest she upset her mother, and I just tried not to think about it altogether. The police had searched for weeks, we’d all been out searching the neighbourhood, and found the square root of nothing. No clues, no leads, just an emptiness in a room where Michael should have been. The police suspected a runaway, after all Michael was sixteen, and that brought along the usual teen attitude and drama that you’d expect, but running away wasn’t Michael. He was too proud and sure of himself to run away from anything. A kidnapping was another possibility, but again, whoever did that would have a fight on their hands. It was a mystery unsolved, an endless question mark in all of our lives, and something which just didn’t get talked about.

“A monster didn’t take Michael, because monsters DON’T EXIST” shouted Lucy, her grip now perilously close to shattering the glass of water she held. Sarah began to cry and clutched me tightly. I hugged her and reassured her that Mama was sorry, that she didn’t mean to shout, and gave Lucy a warning look. She sighed and got up, muttering

“I’m going to bed”. I suggested that Sarah and I do the same, and did the usual routine of tucking her in and reading her a story before joining Lucy in bed.

The next day at breakfast, Sarah looked nervous. I was reading a book and sipping coffee when she suddenly blurted out

“There was a monster at the window last night!”. Me and Lucy exchanged glances before reassuring Sarah yet again that monsters weren’t real. She didn’t let the bland reassurances of the previous night slide as easily this time however, and continued on.

“No, I promise, it was there, it was saying my name!” she wailed, beginning to cry. I put down my book and walked over to her.

“Sarah honey, monsters aren’t real. You were probably just dreaming.” I said calmly, putting my hand on her shoulder and giving her a little squeeze. “Now come on, Daddy will take you to school.” We drove to school in silence, Sarah still trying to suppress sniffles. She didn’t even say goodbye as she got out of the car. When I arrived back at the house, Lucy was waiting for me.

“What are we going to do about this?!” she snapped frantically, looking at me with intense eyes. I sighed. I knew what she meant. Sarah couldn’t believe in monsters, she was way too old, and besides, she had a nervous disposition as it was since her older brother had vanished. I needed to ensure she didn’t bring this up again.

I walked across the garden slowly. I approached the shed and unlocked the door. The shed was a big wooden structure made out of thick planks of wood, and had come with the house. I’d modified it to ensure it locked properly and didn’t leak, but there was very little that needed doing to it. The previous occupants had used it as some sort of band practice room, so it was soundproofed and large. I opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind me. There, shackled to a post at the far end of the shed, was Sarah’s monster. It was dressed in tattered rags, but outside of that had no dignity. Shit streaks ran down its legs, and its skinny frame held up a big, battered head. There was no nose, just two large punctures in the centre of the face, blood and mucus crusted around the holes. One eye was a blank red pit where an eye should be, and the other eye was bloodshot and hateful. The lips had been cut off so a set of yellow crooked teeth jutted out of the centre of the face. It was undeniably a monster, and it eyed me warily as I strode across the shed. Clipping the shackle back into place (it had come loose and the creature had clearly been trying to pretend it was still binding it), I leant down close to the creature and paused, taking in the smell of shit, piss and sweat from it. I went very close to its ear and whispered angrily

“If you ever bother your sister again, i’ll come back in here and scoop your other fucking eye out you little cunt”. I stood and walked out, locking the shed behind me as I went. I strode back across the garden and into my house, where Lucy was waiting for me. She gave me a look that was a question, asking if it was sorted.

“Sarah won’t be getting any more late night visits from her monster, don’t worry” I said, smiling at my wife.

“You’re the best dad in the world” she whispered, kissing me gently on the lips.

I looked up, shocked. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Dad had kept Michael in the shed? Since I was seven years old? My hands shook as I continued to turn pages, unable to believe what I was reading. Mum and Dad were monsters. They were evil. I stood up quickly, my mind racing. I had to get out to the shed, i had to see Michael, if he was still alive, i had to-

The door downstairs opened.

“Sarah? Are you here?” shouted my Mum. I stayed silent, moving very slowly as to not creak the floorboards, my skin on end with terror.

“You didn’t read your Dad’s book did you?

​

Part 2 is here