Underneath the bed live all kinds of monsters. I hear them scrape-screech-scratch and gnash-growl-gnaw All Through the Night. I have grown attached to their company and indeed enamoured of their ways. They lunch most politely upon cupcakes from my vanilla dreams and roll the lint up from the carpet for pillows for their many heads. Though much maligned and misunderstood under-the-bed monsters (distant relatives to those cheeky Wardrobe Pixies and The Thing that lives in the drain hole) mean you little harm and will generally only take what they need from you; a warm sock for a sleeping bag or your little toe to chew on.
During the day while you are absent they will slither, scurry, creep or how the fancy takes them out from under the covers and go about their business of mismatching your socks, replacing the toilet roll on the holder backwards, or murdering your neighbours and making it look like it was all your fault. Hard working creatures that they are, the day doesn’t end there, no sir. As you are wading dementedly through the dirty washing clutching one pink sock, replacing the toilet roll while gritting your teeth and fending off calls from the local constabulary, your friendly under-the-bed monsters are busy using your toothbrush for Unspeakable Things, hiding all your overdue library books and jamming the local primary school’s pet rabbit into your blender. Just as you have finished bleaching your toothbrush and the inside of your face for good measure, conjured up some likely tale of woe for the increasingly short tempered Lady on the Loans Desk and replaced the now violently flinching ball of fluff back in its hutch, it is getting rather close to Dinner Time.
While you were out hoping that no one who wouldn’t Quite Get It would see you with a convulsing rabbit stuffed into your trouser pocket, your dear Scream Machinists have emptied out the cupboards of anything edible and replaced it with a veritable smorgasbord of things most suspiciously spotted, wilted and curdled. Good on them though, they were only having a giggle at your expense, and you don’t want to be a Kill Joy now do you? (Speaking of Killing Joy, oh, never mind…) Dinner time wouldn’t be as much fun without the burning, the scalding, the cuts and the bruises so they do their very best to keep you on your toes (or the toes you have left that is) and they feel very much the same about the subsequent Washing Up.
The next few hours before bed are a more relaxed and reflective time, with only the odd cupboard door flying open and occasional Something Moving Out of the Corner of your Eye to let you know they still care. This is also the time that they like to spend getting ready for the night ahead, and as they are always keen to make a good impression they go to great lengths to dye their eyes, break their nails and file their teeth into Perfection. Anxious to get things underway you will of course forgive them for resetting all the clocks and the ample helping of laudanum in your teacup. Bless their hearts if they had them! As you stagger and sway into the bedroom and the ground rises up to meet your face try to keep one heavy lidded eye open as you just might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of these dear, constant, inescapable, unrelenting friends.
