Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

     "Mommmmmyyyyyyy!! Eeeeeeeeehhhh!! Moommmmmyyyyyiieee!"

     Jerry Burke sat bolt upright in bed, covers falling off him in a bunch.

     "Son of an ever‑lovin bitch!" he mumbled. Debbie sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

     "What is it Jerry? What's wrong?" she asked, still half asleep. Jerry ignored her as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, flinging the remainder of the covers off of him as he went. The bare wood chilled his feet sending little shivers through him. Jerry ignored the cold floor concentrating instead on getting out of his bedroom and down the hallway as quickly as possible.

     He opened his bedroom door, banging his right big toe in the process.

     "Ooowww! Son of an ever‑lovin..."

     "Mooommmmmmyyyyyyy!!!" she screamed again.

     Jerry cursed the dark, cursed the door, and then cursed his boss down at the plant just for fun as he half walked, half trotted down the long hallway to April's room. The townhouse was laid out so that it appeared from the front to be rather narrow, but the building was long and everything went from front to back. Jerry and Debbie's bedroom filled the front of the upstairs, while April's room lay situated at the end of the hall. The main bathroom and two small linen closets lay on either side of the hallway opposite each other in the center. There was another small room that sat silent and empty next to April's, a room of shadow and misery where the son that Jerry loved so desperately would have slept if not for...

     "Mooommmyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!"

     Jerry grit his teeth and picked up the pace, finally coming to the door with the small hand painted plaque that read "APRIL'S ROOM" in bright primary colors. Jerry turned the knob and pushed open the door. When he did a cold breeze blew out from the room making Jerry shake for a second. A wave of fear (? nausea?)passed through with that breeze and a fleeting thought to check the window caulk crossed Jerry's mind and was gone, taking with it whatever that other feeling was.

     When Jerry opened the door he saw April sitting up on her bed scrunched into the corner against the wall with her blanket and her teddy bear Ralph, held outstretched in her arms as if she was using them as a shield. There were tears in her eyes and one big drop had left its trail along her cheek.

     When April saw Jerry come through the door she turned from whatever had frightened her in the corner by the closet half open toward him, throwing wide her arms and wailing long and loud. Jerry went to her and picked her up gingerly. He stroked her silky brown hair and cooed softly in her ear that age old chant that all parents seem to learn; "It's all right, honey, there, there, it's all right. Shhhhhh, it's all right, there, there."

     April buried her head in Jerry's shoulder, sobbing hard.

Little shudders coursed through her tiny body, twisting muscle and sinew into miniscule knots, then smoothing back out again until the next spasm. Jerry cooed and rocked his three year old until she began to loosen in his arms, relaxing gradually until her head lolled against his shoulder.    

"Now what the hell got her so riled up?" thought Jerry, as he carried her down the hall into his bedroom. Fleetingly Jerry thought about that cold breeze, then passed the thought through like so much fodder. April had quieted somewhat and was almost back to sleep by the time Jerry laid her down on the bed next to Debbie, who sat propped up on her elbow with a questioning look in her eyes. Jerry shook his head.

     "Nightmare." he whispered. "She's okay; go back to sleep."

     Debbie leaned over and kissed April on the forehead. April shifted Ralph so that he all but covered her head. Jerry slid back into bed and rolled over, turning his back to both of them. He didn't relish sleeping in their small bed with tiny feet kicking him in the ass all night but something deep within his inner sub‑conscious wouldn't let him leave her in that bedroom alone, at least not tonight. Jerry lay there, wide eyed and trying to figure out why kids have nightmares while his three year old dug her tiny toes into his backside. There was no sleep left for Jerry Burke that night.

     "Hey Moochie, I gotta question for ya."

     Moochie Bant put down his cream cheese and pimento sandwich, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and took a big slurp from his orange soda.

     "Fuckin shit should be banned." he mumbled. He looked at Jerry. Jerry swirled coffee in his cup, set the white porcelain mug down on the table, then picked it up again. Moochie spread his hands wide, leaning forward. Jerry took another sip of coffee.

     "Your kids ever have nightmares?" Jerry felt something inside of him shift even before the question was out. Something tottered dangerously close to the edge and he was inadvertently shoving it further and further out by questioning it at all. He suddenly wanted to retract the question, change the subject, move on to how the bowling team was doing, or how Moochie's wife was a lousy housekeeper, or anything else in the whole fucking universe but what Jerry Burke had just asked. Jerry felt a trickle of sweat run down the middle of his back. He could feel perspiration forming under his hairline, but it wasn't the heat of the factory, or the heat of the day that was making him sweat; it was fear, cold, unadulterated terror.

     Moochie felt none of what Jerry was going through. He sat back, hitching his meaty arm over the back of the metal bi-fold chair and belched loudly.

     "Sure they have nightmares; their kids ain't they? Why? Yours starting in with the monsters under the bed, or the Boogeyman hid in the closet stuff?" Moochie pulled out a pack of Marlboro's, sluffed one out the top and stuck it in his mouth. He couldn't smoke in the lunchroom, but Moochie liked to get his butt in his mouth as soon as his food was gone. It gave him a sense of pleasure, and a sense of being cool like he was back in high school.    

"She's what? three, four? somethin like that?" he mumbled through the cigarette. Jerry took the pack and popped one out the top. He rolled it in his fingers.

 "Yeah, three. She's three." he said.

  "Right age for it to start. Hell, mine started right around that time. Wakin up so fuckin scared they'd piss their pants, and couldn't for the life of em tell ya what they were scared of. Millie'd ask and ask, tryin to, you know, figure out what scared 'em so bad, like she could do something about it if she could just find out what it was. Waste of time I'd tell her. Hell, the kid himself don't know half the time what scared 'em. All they know is their scared. Either put the kid in bed next to ya, or stay there til they fall asleep, I'd tell her." Moochie sucked on the unlit cigarette.

     "C'mon, having this thing in my mouth not being lit is killin me. Like having a tit and not being able to suck on it." Moochie chuckled at his own analogy while he closed up his lunch box. Jerry followed suit, thinking suddenly that Moochie was pretty much an asshole. They put their lunch boxes in their cubbies, then walked down the long antiseptic corridor to the double wide gun metal gray doors that opened to the outside. Bill Hancock was just coming in off a break and the three men exchanged greetings. Moochie lit his cigarette while he was still inside the building, Jerry waited til he was fully outside before lighting up. He took a big drag on the smoke, feeling its acid bite run through his lungs, savoring the slight rush from the first exhale.

     "So what makes you ask about nightmares?" Moochie asked suddenly, as if they conversation had never died. Jerry stared at him through one eye, the other stung closed from the smoke.

     "I told you, it's April. Past three or four nights she's been waking up with the screamin meemies. Pointin' at the corner of her bed and yellin' like a banshee."

     ('Woopf Daddy.. woopf woopf bad woopf Daddy, Daddy , donlem gemmeee donlem gemmeeee Daddy', she'd scream, pointing at the corner of the bed, her eyes wide with terror, constantly darting back and forth from his face to the corner, and when he looked at that corner, just a glance, hadn't he thought he'd seen something hairy slide back under the cover of darkness, slink back into the shadows? but it was just a shadow he told himself, just a play of light, that's all... woopf Daddy woopf... and later the next day Debbie telling him about the Sears display and he knew she was saying Wolf...)

     "...what I said, for Pete’s sake Jerry."

     Jerry realized that Moochie had asked him something and he'd missed the whole question thinking about April, probably missed it twice.

     "What? I'm sorry Moochie, what did you say?" Jerry sucked absently at his cigarette, now three quarters gone.

     Moochie rolled his eyes. "I said what's she pointin at?" He flicked his cigarette into the bushes.

     "End of her bed, like, you know, there's something hiding under there, or something." Jerry dropped his cigarette on the ground, crushing it out with his toe.

 (... the better to eat you with my dear)

     "What?" Jerry looked at Moochie hard. "What did you say?"      Moochie rolled his eyes. "I said what's she pointin at. Then you said..."

     "No, I mean after that; what did you say after that?"

     "I didn't say nothin after that. What the fuck's wrong with you man? You're losin it."

     "Yeah, I guess, anyway, let's get back inside.

Jenkins catches us two seconds longer than our break he'll dock us." Jerry opened the door.

     "Jenkins docks me I'll dock him." Moochie made a fist and held it up for Jerry to see, shaking it slowly in his face. They both laughed. 

     Jerry watched his wife rinsing dishes. He swirled his beer in the bottom of the glass, then tipped it up and drained the rest.

     "I asked Moochie about his kids havin nightmares, you know, like April." he said, pulling a second bottle from the fridge and twisting off the top.

     Debbie stopped rinsing the sauce pot and turned to look at him. Jerry poured the beer down the side of the glass until he had a good head going, then he swigged the remainder from the bottle. He didn't look at Debbie purposely because he knew the look she'd be wearing. That look that said,” You are such an asshole Jerry. You've always been an asshole. Why I ever married you in the first place is beyond me, and why I stay is even further beyond me." If he looked at her and she had that look on her face he may just get up from where he was sitting and smash his beer bottle right over her goddam head. So, to save himself the aggravation he just didn't look. Instead he studied the head on his beer, watching closely how the tiny foam bubbles seemed to burst in random order. He swirled the beer, observing the way the sudden aggravation interrupted the bubbles normal pattern of popping. He heard Debbie turn back to the sink and start to scrub the pot again. He waited a few more seconds, then looked.

     "I asked to see if it was normal for a kid her age to be having so many nightmares. You know Moochie's got three kids and the youngest one is just about April's age. He said that his kids have ‘em all the time. They get so scared they piss right in their beds and..."

     "Like Moochie Bant is some expert on the behavior patterns of children." She slammed the pot into the dishwasher. "Like Moochie Bant could be an expert on anything. The man can't find his own ass to wipe and you’re telling him all our troubles."

     "I didn't tell him all our troubles. Jeezum crow, all I did was ask him about his kid’s havin nightmares. I just wanted to see how long it lasts, that's all. Maybe get a handle on why she's so scared."

     Debbie pushed the dishwasher door shut, undid her apron and threw it on the counter. She leaned back against it with both hands behind her. Jerry could see the look, lurking just behind her eyes, waiting to get out, waiting to shrink him down to practically nothing with its dreadful weight of guilt and hate. He knew if he pushed another button he'd only succeed in bringing that look out to play; then he'd be the one with the nightmares tonight, not April. The only difference was that her nightmares that lurked in the dark and hid in the shadows under her bed would eventually come to an end. April would grow up and laugh at how silly she'd been, being afraid of things that go bump in the night. Jerry's nightmares would never end; they would live on and on, night after night, day after day. Every time he looked in his wife's eyes his nightmares would be staring back at him, waiting to visit him again, and again, and again. Jerry surrendered, not wanting to face that horrid look anymore. He dropped his eyes into his beer again.

     "I was just trying to help; that's all. She scared me. She was so scared, so tiny, standing in her bed shakin like a leaf in the wind. I just got scared, that's all. I.. I wasn't tryin to..." He shrugged.

     "I told you why she's so scared." Debbie said. Her voice had softened, lost its edge. "She saw that mattress display at Sears and just freaked out. You know, you had read the story to her the night before, and I think seeing that display really etched it in her mind. She's petrified of that wolf, and frankly, I don't blame her."

     "C'mon, how bad could it have been. It's only a display, for pete's sake." Jerry lit the cigarette she held out for him. He noticed her hands were shaking.

     "I'm telling you it was grotesque. It was absolutely horrible. I can't believe those people would actually agree to use a thing like that in their store. Scared me half to death when I saw it. Couple that with your "story time" and its no wonder she's having nightmares. You had to read her the Grimm's Fairytales version. You couldn't have stuck with the little cartoon story I got her. Oh no, not you. You gotta go to the library, get the original versions complete with all the bloody details. Just the stuff to fuel a three year olds imagination."

     "I thought she should see the original. Just like I had when I was a kid." he said sheepishly.

     "She's only three!" Debbie yelled, moving in on him until he had to back his chair up to keep from bumping heads with her. He could see her anger flare, feel its heat come pouring out of her threatening to roast him in its wake.

     "She's only three years old! She's too young to have that kind of shit read to her! Why don't you see that? Why can't you get that through your goddamn fat head? Why can't you pay closer attention to your kid?" She was screaming now, waving her arms and spitting like a madwoman. Jerry could feel his own anger kindle like a fire, beginning to blaze, starting to roar, and suddenly it burst.

     "I didn't kill him Debbie! I didn't fucking kill him!!" Jerry jumped up knocking his chair over behind him. The bottle of beer rolled off the table and smashed on the floor. Neither one noticed it. Jerry grabbed both her arms, gripping tight while she screamed and thrashed, trying to break free.

     "Stop it! Stop! Listen to me!" he yelled, shaking her. "I didn't kill him! I was asleep, god help me, I fell asleep. Maybe that was wrong, maybe if I'd been awake, hovering over his crib I would have seen him stop breathing but I wasn't. I was fucking asleep! Do you understand? I didn't kill him. The doctor said it was crib death! Crib death! Do you understand! He said it would have happened anyway; I couldn't have stopped it from happening! Do you hear me?"

With a final shake it was gone; all the anger that had roiled over inside of him just as quickly as it had come now retreated back into its dark hole. Jerry realized he'd been shaking her the whole time he was yelling at her, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of her arms. He opened his hands and she pulled free of his grip, her eyes wide with fear and hatred.

     Jerry sighed heavily, energy spent, every emotion seemingly drained. "I didn't kill our baby boy." he said. "I loved him too."

     He turned and walked away from her. Suddenly he saw that April was standing in the doorway clutching Ralph close to her chest, tiny tears streaming down her face. He felt his eyes fill with love for his daughter, opening his arms wide and moving to pick her up. Then Debbie was there, pushing him out of the way, whisking April up into her arms.

     "It's okay baby, Mommy's here, Sssshhhhh, itsawight punkins.." Debbie shot him a look over her shoulder as she took April back down the hall into her room. Jerry shut his eyes tight and rubbed his forehead. He looked down at the floor at the broken glass and went to get a dustpan.

     Jerry threw the last of the glass in the garbage can under the sink and shut the door, thinking about his dead son. Debbie had found him, laying beneath his blanket, his little eyes closed in sleep. Jerry had been sound asleep on the couch when she came in from the store. He had watched the last five innings of the ballgame, downing the better part of a six pack in the process. When the game was over he had flipped on some old western and promptly fell asleep. He hadn't checked on Tommy since the start of the eighth inning. The kid was sleeping soundly. He had the door open so he was sure to hear him if he woke up. Sure to hear him if anything was wrong.

When Debbie screamed he came rising slowly out of a beer drenched sleep and was shocked to see that the four o'clock movie had given way to the eight o'clock movie. When she screamed again he jumped off the couch like he'd been shot. He started towards the bedroom, but was barely into the hallway, trying to shake off the last threads of sleep when she came running down the hall carrying Tommy's strangely limp form.

     "What's wrong?" he yelled. "Debbie, tell me what's wrong!"     

She was near hysterical, running around the livingroom, Tommy's tiny nine month old form wrapped in the blanket his gramma had hand knitted for him. It was baby blue for her little grandson. Now it was wrapped around him like a shroud, his tiny pink arm dangling out of the side. They would bury him with his blanket wrapped around him. Jerry ran after her, fear balling itself into a knot in his stomach, rising into his throat. Finally, he caught her arm and pulled her to him.

     "What's wrong with him?" he yelled.

     "He's dead! He's dead, you son of a bitch! You layed there on the couch and drank your fucking beer and you let him die!" That was where the look was birthed, right at that moment, with his son turning cold in his wife's arms and their marriage turning cold right along with it. She would have left him too, if it hadn't been for April.

     They didn't plan it, but Debbie was already pregnant when Tommy died, probably conceived the week before and wasn't that a kicker.

     "Kill one kid and make another" Jerry thought as he stuck the broom back in the closet. Nine months later along came April. Debbie agreed to go to counseling with him, try to salvage their marriage, but the look, birthed on the day of Tommy's death, never disappeared. Jerry would think it had, would be sure it finally had; they would go for weeks, months at a time, then he would do something, say something that would remind her of how much she really hated him for killing their son, and that look would surface like a huge, lurking monster rising from the depths of a sea made of misery and despair. Usually what triggered the look had to do with April; he'd say something about April, or punish her in some way, and the look would begin to bubble crazily towards the surface. He'd learned to treat April with kid gloves while her mother was anywhere in sight; not because he was an apathetic parent, mind you. Oh no, not in the least. April got what she deserved; no more, and certainly no less. Jerry Burke was not going to have an unruly child on his hands, not in this lifetime. He wasn't raised that way, and he wasn't going to raise his kid that way. It was just that he couldn't take it, couldn't take that look piercing him, wounding him, shriveling his insides like some nuclear ray gun from another planet that sucked all the life juices out of you and left you some pathetic little shell of a human being, incapable of any emotion but guilt; left you with nothing but pain, pain that had never been purged, had never been drained from his heart because he was afraid of showing anything for fear he'd lose, not only his son, but his wife and unborn daughter as well.

So while everyone else had grieved over the tiny little white coffin that held his baby, Jerry Burke had smothered his pain, trying in some way to make up for the mistake that his wife believed had cost them their son. While everyone else cried and wept over their tragic loss, draining away the pain and grief, Jerry Burke's pain and grief festered and grew like a giant boil inside his heart, slowly poisoning his feelings, eating away anything that once may have been good until all you he had left was a dull, throbbing ache that would never quite go away.

     April's arrival then had been both a blessing and a curse; it was a blessing because Jerry was slowly learning to let himself love again. How could you not love the little tow‑headed tot who ran up to you when you got home from a hard day at  work mad at the world and threw herself into your arms,  hugging you so hard you think for a second her little arms are going to break, kissing you all over and yelling "Daddy's

home, daddy's home. I wuv you daddeee, I wuuvv youuu!" until you can feel the tears well up in your eyes and your heart, long since gone stony cold, begin to warm and crack be it ever so slightly.

     It was a curse because every so often she would turn a certain way, or do a certain little thing with her face and you could see Tommy, tiny and innocent, looking up at you from his crib with the little pony mobile going round and round and that round punkin face laughing and laughing and laughing...

(The better to eat you with my dear...)

     "What?" Jerry dropped the dustpan and whirled around.

     "Who said that? Debbie! Is that you?" He held the broom up and away in a two handed stance, ready to swing. When Debbie came through the doorway he had the broom raised up high over his head.

     "What are you doing?" she whispered. The look swirled just behind the windows of her eyes, dark and brooding, waiting to spring into the light of their lives and suck the fiber from the fragile bit of love that still resided there.

     "Nothing. I thought I heard... never mind. How is she?"   The dustpan disappeared back into its place in the closet without further protest; the sticky spots of beer disappeared under the onslaught of a wet paper towel.

     "She's fine... now. She was upset, but she's okay now. She wants to know why we were yelling at each other. I told her we were discussing things in a loud adult manner. She said "Well just don't yell like that again, mommy. It makes my ears tingle and my eyes water." I told her we'd try not to anymore. She sends you a kiss goodnight. I'm gonna watch some T.V." With that Debbie turned and went into the living room. Moments later Jerry heard the click of the T.V. and the flood of artificial voices invading their home. Jerry sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands, suddenly exhausted from the emotional war he'd been fighting since the day their son had died.

     "Tommy, I'm so sorry honey." he whispered. "Daddy's sorry he let you die, so very sorry he let you die..." Tears fell silently down his cheeks. "If only it was me; dear God why couldn't it have been me instead of my baby, my little Tommy..." Jerry Burke wept quietly, sitting by himself, at his kitchen table.

     He could hear him screaming, his little lungs near bursting at the expenditure of energy it took to make so much noise. He could hear him screaming as he ran down the hallway towards his bedroom. Well, maybe run wasn't the right word for it; maybe stumble down the hall was more correct because he had already had several beers and the damn hallway had grown so long that it was taking Jerry forever to get down the damn thing. He kept getting his feet tangled up in something and falling down. Finally he looked down and, lo and behold! his feet were stuck in two kegs of beer! Now how in the hell did that happen? No wonder he couldn't run very fast; his damn legs were stuck in two fucking kegs of beer! Wasn't that a pisser?

     Jerry struggled to his feet, well, to his kegs, and shuffled off again, trying to reach the source of that hideous scream. He passed by doorway after doorway, all shut tight. He could see Tommy's room just right down the hall, waiting for him to get there and stop his boy from screaming, but those damn kegs were making progress pretty slow. He passed by another doorway which slammed open as he passed. It was Debbie, only it wasn't Debbie. It was Debbie looking like she'd been dead for ages. Her skin was green and oozing, her hair was all but gone, just several strands pieced together in a spayed up bouffant with bare patches of skull peeking through. She was wearing her favorite long sleeve sleepshirt with the two teddy bears holding a heart on the front, but it was old and green with mildew. There were holes gaping from several places where the moths or something worse, had eaten their way through the material, and just behind the cloth Jerry could see some thing moving, crawling, slithering underneath. He could see something black and snakelike wrap itself around her left breast, then distinctly heard the thing sink its teeth into the area around her nipple, heard the flesh tear and rip as whatever it was began to feed. Debbie raised one gray, bony arm towards him as he shuffled past in his beer keg overshoes.

     "You fuck! You lousy beer soaked fuck! You let that shit get a hold of you and you let us die, you let us all fucking die! First you killed Tommy, then you killed me, and now it’s gonna be April. You're gonna let it kill April and then you can have all the beer you want because you'll just drink all by yourself and let us DIE! We're DEAD because of you and that beer. DEAD, do you hear me, DEAD!!"

     Jerry screamed, but nothing came out. He tried to run but his beer kegs encumbered him so much that he succeeded in doing nothing but falling down again. He could hear Debbie coming for him; hear her behind him scrabbling across the floor after him, her finger still pointed like a gun at him. He tried to crawl away from her, sliding on his knees down the hallway, steel kegs clanking together like some weird timpani drum. Bile rose in his throat and he could taste the fear in his mouth.

     "If she touches me my mind will just snap. That'll be it. If she touches me..." he thought. Finally he could take it no longer. He rolled on his back towards his dead wife and heard himself screaming "I didn't kill him you fucking bitch! I didn't do it!!!!" but she wasn't there. And suddenly the beer kegs were gone from his legs. He shook himself. Another scream pierced his short lived respite, sending him scrambling to his feet again. Jerry could see the doorway not more than two feet to his left. The door was slightly cracked open, Tommy's Snoopy nitelite casting dim shadows out into the hallway. Jerry jumped to his feet.

     "I'm coming son; Daddy's coming, I'm coming..." he yelled, slamming open the door with a straight armed thrust. Jerry rushed into Tommy's room expecting to find Tommy standing up in his crib, screaming for Dada. What he found was much worse.

     The door opened up into the viewing room of the funeral parlor where they had laid Tommy's body out for all their friends and relatives to come and stare at Jerry Burke's tiny dead son and cluck their tongues and wag their heads at the sot of a father that had allowed this tragedy to happen. Jerry walked down the aisle that led up to where the small, white, satin lined coffin sat on its stand, lid propped open to expose the body to prying curious eyes. He could see the little gilded handles on the sides, the gold rings where the poles would slide through so they could lower the coffin into the hungry earth, and even the small scratch he had made on the edge of the rim where he had gripped the coffin so hard his wedding ring had cut into the wood leaving a mark. It was all there, just the way he remembered it from the day they buried Tommy. 

     Fear and grief threatened to drown him, dismay swirled over him like a storm gripping his heart and filling his throat with bile. He did not want to walk to the edge of that coffin, did not want to look over the edge of that abyss of misery again and see that frail little body with its closed eyes and slicked down hair laying motionless in that box, but something called to him, drove him like sheep to the slaughter, pulled him to that white symbol of death.

     "Noooooo please please, oh dear sweet Jesus, nooooo. Don't make me, don't make me." Jerry whimpered while his feet went on walking him right to the coffin's edge. A small moaning sound escaped from somewhere deep in his chest and came out his mouth when his hands closed around the gilded rim of his son's coffin. The rich, cloying scent of funeral flowers assaulted his sense of smell, closing his throat and dulling his vision. Somewhere deep in the background he could faintly hear an organ playing "Nearer My God To Thee". The walls swayed seemingly with the tempo of the music and he had to grip the coffin tighter to keep from falling over.

     "Don't make medon't make medon't make medon't make me..." Jerry chanted, all the while moving over the edge of the coffin closer and closer. He could see the white satin liner, billowed and comfortable looking, gripping loosely around a tiny arm. They had dressed Tommy in his blue long sleeve romper that he loved, then wrapped his baby blanket around him. Jerry moved further over the coffin, his vision filling now with shades of blue. A second more and he would see Tommy's face, white and chalky, his eyes forever closed. Nausea passed over him clouding his vision for a brief second. When it cleared he was looking directly at Tommy's face, but it wasn't Tommy's face lying there in the coffin. (the better to eat you with my dear...)

     Red hungry eyes buried deep in a muzzle of course brown, matted fur gleamed up at Jerry from inside the coffin. Jerry had a fleeting impression of yellow foaming jaws snapping open and closed, showing white fangs of needle‑like sharpness; hairy, wet paws gripping the sides of the coffin, razor sharp claws cutting slashes in the white painted wood as the creature started to pull itself out of its final? resting place, and the sound of deep, gutteral growls rolling out of the things throat sounding almost like talking(afraid of the big bad wo...) as it yanked itself upward before Jerry felt himself let go, and a scream with a life of its own tore itself free from his throat and ripped through his ears, propelling him backwards until he lost his balance and fell down, down, down....

     landing right in his bed where he sat up with the scream still trapped in his throat, dripping wet with sweat and fear, but alive and in his own bed.

     "Just a dream, it was just a fucking nightmare." Jerry thought as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed onto the cold wood floor. His shirt was soaked through and clung to his skin causing cold shivers to pass through him like shock waves. He ran his fingers through his hair, then pulled the wet shirt over his head tossing it into the hamper by the bathroom door. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. Jerry dried his hair and body with a towel, then grabbed a dry t‑shirt out of his drawer. His sheets were wet with night‑sweats so he padded quietly down to the kitchen to get himself something to drink while they dried. He made himself a cup of coffee, poured in a small bit of half and half and sat down at his kitchen table to watch the sunrise. Just as he was about to take his first sip April screamed.(the better to eat you with..)

     Jerry dropped his cup spilling both cup and contents onto the kitchen floor. As he ran through the kitchen door and into the long hallway fear tightened its grip on his sanity. Memories of his nightmare floated back into his consciousness enhancing the fear until it was tangible, until the taste of it filled his mouth, coppery and bitter like vinegar and blood mixed together.

New sweat began to flow freely from his pores as he pattered down the hall, feet making slapping noises on the bare wood. April's door loomed ahead, slightly ajar with a glimmer of light seeping from around the edges.

     Another scream, this one garbled and filled with mucous, poured forth from her room. Jerry sprinted the last fourteen feet and grabbed at the door handle, terror suddenly slipping inside his shirt with him like a long lost friend. He started to push the door open when he heard something that froze him in mid‑motion. A growl, deep and gutteral, rolled out from the room. Jerry swallowed hard and shoved open the door. What he saw made him half‑step backwards in shock. 

It was his old room at the house in Jamaica Ponds. All his old posters were hanging on the walls right where he'd left them so very many years ago; Superman, the Green Hornet and Cato, Carl Yazstremski taking a mighty swing at a high hard fast ball. His old desk with the small wooden slatback chair where he did his homework stood off to one side of the tiny room just like it had until they'd moved. There were books stacked on top of it as if he'd just finished his homework and he'd put them there so he wouldn't forget them the next morning. Jerry looked hard and saw brown paper bag bookcovers with his father's bold printing on the side; Spelling, Math, History, and a spiral notebook underneath the stack that Jerry knew would have a picture of the Partridge Family with their heads out the windows of their multi‑colored bus on the front.

     He half‑turned to his right and saw his old closet with the double wooden doors on runners; one door stood half opened. Icy terror ran up and down his spine when he saw that door and memory poured back into the house of his mind like flood waters crashing over poorly filled sand bags. He took a tentative step towards the open door and stopped. Someone was in the room! Jerry whirled towards his bed where a small figure sat huddled against the headboard quietly crying. The bed had his brown and orange plaid blanket on it that his mom had bought for him at Montgomery Wards with her new credit card. He remembered her face, full of love and wisdom, smiling at him as they carried the huge shopping bag with the two (his brother had to have one too!) blankets stuffed inside of it. He remembered the weight of his side of the bag, the feel of the shiny plastic in his hands as he struggled to help her with the load. He saw her again as she finally closed the trunk of the car on their package, winked at him and said, "Dad will have a fit when he finds out I got a new credit card and ran it out to the limit on the same day, so don't you tell!" She had ruffled his hair and her hand smelled of soap and when they got home they had both thrown the blanket on the bed together, then laid down together on top of it and oohh'd and aaahhh'd about how comfy it was. And now here it was again, all laid out on his bed again with some kid stuffed up underneath it.

     Jerry stepped closer and heard the kid whisper, "mommy... mommy... mommy.." and he realized it was him, hiding under that blanket like he had so many nights so long ago; hiding from the shadows that ran across the ceiling of his room when the lights went off, hiding from things that scratched at the window hoping to be let in, but most of all hiding from whatever had opened that closet door halfway.

     "What the fuck..." Jerry said quietly.

     "...the better to eat you with..." came whispering from out of the closet, low and gutteral, followed by a throaty gurgling growl. Jerry looked at the closet door and saw eyes, red and glistening, peering towards the bed where the little boy sat huddled and desperate and too terrified to do anything but say, "mommy, mommy, mommy" over and over like some ancient liturgy.

     The closet door squeeled on its ungreased wheels and Jerry saw a paw, filled with sharp claws and covered with greasy, matted fur, pulling the door open inch by inch, careful to make very little noise so the parent's wouldn't hear and spoil all its fun. He stood mesmerized as what little light there was spilled in from the open window and shone in the increasing width of the closet, defining and illuminating the beast that lay crouched within, waiting among the hung up school clothes, the basket of toys and guns and trucks, and the mass of sneakers and church shoes that lay strewn about at the bottom of the closet; waiting until the folks were busy watching T.V. or tucked in their own beds, or sipping tea in the warm light of the kitchen; waiting until the moment was ripe for the kill... and the light went on.

     Jerry jumped about an inch out of his skin and whirled around to see his Mom, dead now about two years next March, come walking into the room, concern etched across her face.

     "Jerry honey, what's wrong? What's the matter baby?" She came towards the bed, oblivious of her grown up son standing not two feet from her. Jerry under the bed clothes dropped the covers and held his arms out. He was covered with a greasy fear‑sweat and shaking like a leaf. Jerry's mom sat down on his bed and wrapped her arms around him as he sobbed into her shoulder. She shussed him quietly for a second, then stood up and pulled him out of bed.

     "C'mon sweetheart, you can sleep with me tonight. Your dad will have a fit but that's too damn bad, okay?" Jerry the child, eight years old and scared to tears looked at his mother with something akin to worship, jumping out of bed and grabbing her by the hand. They left the bedroom and padded down the hall towards his parents bedroom. Jerry stood there for a brief second, about to follow them, when he heard footsteps come back down the hallway. His mom stuck her head back inside the room and reached for the light switch. She stopped, turning slowly towards the still half‑open closet door, fear showing on her face now too. From inside the door there came a soft growl, almost silent. Jerry's mom started, then shook her head and laughed to herself.

     "Silly. Almost has me convinced." She flicked off the light and left. Jerry could hear her padding back down the hall, footsteps a little quicker now. He started to go after her, opening the door and steeping out into the hallway, but when he did it wasn't the hallway of his parent's home anymore, it was his hallway. He stood there in the shadows for a second, shaking his head.

     "What the hell is going on?" Jerry yelled to the empty hallway.

     And suddenly he knew.

     Jerry started down the hallway towards April's room, determined to end this once and for all. Debbie came out of their bedroom pulling her robe on over her pajamas and stepped in front of Jerry.

     "What's wrong?" she said, fear and concern etched across her face. "Why are you out here yelling at the top of your voice, Jerry; what's wrong?"

     Jerry grabbed her by the shoulders pulling her face within inches of his own.

     "I know what's happening! I know why April's having nightmares all the time! Dear God, I know why I'm having nightmares all the time!" Debbie shook her head, confusion replacing the fear on her face.

     "What the hell are you talking about?"

     "It's me, Debbie. It wants me. It's always wanted me, but my parents moved us before it could get me. When we moved we moved into a smaller house. Ricky and I had to share a room, and Ricky, because he was older than me didn't believe in monsters hiding in the closet. He used to laugh at me until I got to the point where I didn't believe in them either. For some reason that unbelief held it at bay all these years, until now; until April. April believes; she believes in monsters in the closet, and spooks and ghosts and all the rest of that stuff that we're just too old to believe anymore. That's what it’s been waiting for, someone to believe in it again." Jerry stopped, breath coming short and heavy with the terror that gripped him. He looked into Debbie's eyes, fully expecting to see a look of unbelief, or anger, or worse still, The Look. Instead, what he saw was understanding.

     Debbie stared at her husband, not wanting to, but somehow believing that what he said made sense. "But why does she think it's the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood? I mean, that's what scared her at the store, so doesn't it make sense that she's just afraid of that image, and not that there is a real monster hiding in her closet?"

     "Yeah, oh yeah. It makes a helluva lot of sense, except that the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood was the image that I had of the monster in my closet, too. The monster that April sees is the same damn monster that haunted me through my childhood! I know it sounds like I've lost my mind, but I honestly believe that's what's happening."

     "Jesus, Jerry. Are you sure? I mean, we're talking about monsters living under our kids’ bed! Monsters!" Debbie shook her head, squeezing her eyes and rubbing her forehead.

     "Not under the bed; in the closet. And it's not monsters; it's just one monster."

     "So what do we do about it? We've got to call someone; the police, or the marines, or somebody. We can't just let this monster kill our baby. What do we do?"

     Jerry took his wife by the shoulders, holding her firmly and staring deep into her eyes.

     "We kill it, Debbie. Or rather, I kill it. I go sleep in April’s room and wait for it to come for me; then I kill it, or it kills me. Either way, it's finished."

     Debbie shook her head. "Nooo Jerry, nooo. We call the cops and let them deal with it. They're trained to..."

     Jerry shook his wife, hard.

     "Trained to do what, Debbie? Kill monsters? Do you know what would happen if we called the cops and told them that the wolf from right out of a fairy tale was hiding in our daughter’s closet, waiting until she goes to sleep so it can come out and eat her? That this same wolf terrorized me as a child, and quite possibly killed our infant son? Do you realize where we'd end up? In some nuthouse somewhere, building forts out of clay and trying hard to stay in the lines when we color. Then what would happen to April? How long do you think she'd last in some foster home with people who don't believe her when she cries at night about the wolf in the closet? How long, Debbie, before it kills her too?"

     Jerry and Debbie stared at each other, both wrestling doubts and fears of their own, until finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching, they were one. After years of being two people living with the same last name, sharing the same home, and loving the same child, that love for their daughter finally broke down the walls between them and made them one again. They saw it in each others eyes, and both accepted the other for what they were; husband and wife, parents.

     The scream from down the hall broke into their silent reverie like a wave of cold water, snapping them back to the here and now where a monster waited in the closet of their baby's bedroom to eat her at the very first chance it got. From the sound of that scream that chance was now.

     Jerry Burke broke and ran like he had never run in his life. Primordial instinct to protect his child kept at bay any fears for his own safety; his only thought was April. As he ran adrenalin surged through him filling his heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe. His head pounded with the rush of fear and anger that coursed through him. When he hit April's door he was seething with rage, and absolutely terrified.

     To Jerry's surprise he found that Debbie was right behind him. He had assumed she would cower back in the hallway, waiting to see if it was all true or if this was another one of Jerry's games. He turned to look at her before he went through the door and he saw a look in her eyes that he never would have expected; a look of fury.

     "Good for you, Deb." Jerry thought. "I never would have figured you had it in you. I love you, both of you." With that silent prayer Jerry pushed open the door.

     April was standing in her bed, backed against the wall. The covers and her pillow, along with Ralph, were laying off her bed on the floor. She had her arms stretched in front of her and her feet were back‑pedaling, trying to get her further away from what had terrified her. Jerry looked and saw that the closet door was half open. Light from April's nite‑lite spilled into its outer edges so that Jerry could just barely make out a large shape lurking inside. As he stood there trying to see what it was he heard a low guttural growl come from the shape.

 Jerry stepped into the room, his eyes darting back and forth from where April was to the closet door, never leaving either for more than a second. He reached out for April moving slowly towards her bed. He heard her crying "Dada,Dada, Dada" softly in between heavy sobbing and gasping for breath.

     "Sheeesss miiiinnnnee nowwwww gggrrrrrrrrrrr" the wolf‑thing whispered from inside the closet. One huge fur covered paw reached out and took hold of the metal bi‑fold door as if to push it open. Jerry could hear the screeching of metal as its razor sharp claws scraped against the door digging deep furrows in the paint and aluminum.

     Jerry grabbed April off the bed and pulled her close to him. She buried her head in his shoulder and whimpered softly. Jerry moved backwards towards the door. He turned to go out and found himself back inside the room where he had started, still facing the closet door.

     "What the hell?" Jerry turned back to the door moving quickly now. He could see Debbie standing in the hall waiting for him to get April out of the room; he could see that she was saying something, no, yelling something to him, but he couldn't hear her. He ran at the door, hoping to get out, to just make it into the hallway to safety, but knowing it wasn't going to happen. As he moved to the door he realized that the door was moving away from him, seemingly stretching and elongating until it was no longer six feet away, but sixteen feet away, and now sixty feet away. The faster he ran at the opening the faster and further the door ran away from him until it seemed like Debbie was a football fields length away and fading fast. April had begun to cry again, great whooping sobs that rocked her tiny frame, making it difficult for Jerry to hold her.

     Jerry stopped running. Debbie, still standing in the doorway, was almost out of sight. She looked like a speck on the horizon, waving tiny arms at him. Jerry took a deep breath, repositioned April closer to him, and turned back towards the closet.

     "Well, you've got me here; now what?" Jerry yelled.

     "Nowww, I eeeaatt youuuu, myyy dear." A rasping voice spilled out from the inner depths of the closet.     "Leave her out of this then; leave my baby out of this, you furry bastard!" Jerry yelled to the closet. "If it's me you want then just leave her alone!"

     "Ohhh but she's theee maaaaiiinn coursssseerrrrr..." it growled, low and throaty. "I eatttt yourrrrr and then feassssst on thhhe feeearrr innn herrrrr."

     "So you planned on eating her all along...  Just like you ate the life right out of my son... Didn't you?  Didn't you!"

     Ooohhh yessss Jerrrryyyy... anddd he wassss taasssttyyyyyyrrrr!"

     Jerry Burke thought about his son, tiny and alone in his crib, crying for him as he slept on the couch. His baby having to face this monster from the closet all alone while his daddy slept through the stupid ballgame on TV, and how he had blamed himself and hated himself until he had almost lost the wonderful gift that God had given back to him. He almost lost his wife and his daughter because he lost himself in his fears and his sorrows; never stopping to think that what he had left was worth living for after all. And now this monster from his childhood, this stealer of life and joy and peace lurked waiting in his daughters closet, just as it had lurked in his closet when he was a child, just as it had lurked in his son's closet night after night waiting for the moment to open the door and frighten the life from him. Now it was here, strong and scary, to finally steal all that Jerry Burke had left to take; his hopes and dreams, his love and life, his baby girl, his own life.

     Jerry Burke thought about all these things while waiting to be eaten by the Big Bad Wolf hiding in the closet beside his daughter's bed, and suddenly he found he wasn't very afraid anymore. Suddenly he found he was angry; very, very angry indeed.

     The closet door was almost open now. He could see the furry snout, yellow foam dripping from jaws that opened and closed with a snapping sound, starting just beyond the shadows. If he squinted, he could make out the huge, hulking body of the monster, clothed in some kind of white shirt (a granny’s nightgown Jerry thought fleetingly) and the ears sticking straight up from its head. It was wearing some kind of hat ("A nightcap from the same granny that the shirt came from." Jerry realized with sudden clarity) which barely fit its furry head, rustling against clothes hung in April's closet. Jerry could see the dress she wore to church on Sunday last hanging directly over the monster's head. And Jerry Burke began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, until he wasn't just laughing, he was guffawing loudly.

     "You're, you're wearing a NIGHTGOWN and NIGHTCAP!" Jerry bellowed. He was laughing so hard that it was difficult to hold April in his arms and not fall over.

     "Whhaaat arrrre youu lauughinggg atttt?" it hissed and growled. "I'mm going toooo eaaaattt youuuu upprrr!"

     "Yeah, I get it... but you're wearing a NIGHTGOWN and a NIGHTCAP!!!!!" Jerry had to put April down. His sides hurt so much from laughing that it was impossible to hold her anymore. He turned and saw that Debbie was almost back where they had started, right next to him just inside the door. The door had moved almost back to where it belonged and Debbie along with it.

     Jerry looked down at April. She was chuckling slightly through sobs and looking at him as if he was lunatic, which he probably was at this point. Jerry knelt down beside her, turning her to face the closet door where the wolf‑monster thing was hunched just inside the opening.

     "Look honey, see the monster from the closet? It has on pajamas like Grandma wears! Isn't that just the silliest thing you ever did see in all your life?" and Jerry began to laugh again; good, hard belly laughs; laughs that filled the soul and chased away fear, laughs that cleared the head and cleared the heart, laughs that only people that finally realize that all they ever needed was in their grasp all along and all they have to do is grab ahold with both hands and let love do the rest.

     And when Jerry Burke looked at his beautiful baby girl she was pointing at the closet and laughing just as hard as he was.

     "What a silly monster, Daddy!" she laughed.

     "Why arrree youuu laaughing at meeeee?" it howled. And with that it threw back the closet door and came fully out into the room, growling low and throaty, full of menace and evil; its claws raking the air in front of it, already imagining the ripping of flesh they would indulge in.

    Jerry Burke picked up his baby and handed her to her mommy, who was also chuckling lowly. He looked into her eyes and saw something there he had only imagined he would ever see again in his lifetime; he saw a love that had once been, and was again, and it made him braver that he ever dreamed he could be. Jerry Burke turned to face his worst nightmare come true.

     The monster was only a few feet from Jerry. He could feel its breath ripple back his hair, smell the odor of rotted flesh and fetid meat in that breath. He could see small bugs crawling around on its head, burrowing into its hair like it was dirt. Jerry noticed that its claws were drippy and shiny with what looked like candle wax, but probably wasn't; and that its jaws worked rhythmically as if chewing on something already. Fangs dripped with foam, yellow and thick, that cascaded off them and dribbled onto its jaw, where it flew off in flecks every time it worked its jaws. And in spite of its huge bulk, and heavy musculature; in spite of its menacing size and weight; in spite of its awful disposition and obvious killing capabilities, it was wearing an off‑white nightgown with little yellow and blue pansies embroidered on it with a matching ruffled nightcap pulled jauntily off to one side.

     Jerry stifled a chuckle. "You are so fetching in that ensemble!"

     The monster cocked one eyebrow quizzically.

     "I mean, c'mon! How do you expect to scare anyone dressed in that?" Jerry pointed to the nightgown.

     The wolf‑thing dropped its claws to its sides; its demeanor shifted ever so subtly from murder to perplexity.

     "You come in here and growl and sputter about eating me allll up, you make this big leap out of my fears and into my home, and you attack us wearing a nightgown and nightcap... with pansies on it no less!" Jerry shook his head in disbelief.

     "And the worst part about it is I let you. I let you steal my boy, and I almost let you steal my daughter, and my life right along with her." Jerry looked at Debbie and April, huddled by the door, watching him, rooting for him. "I almost let you do it."

     The monster shifted, its certainty beginning to shake ever so slightly.

     "But I'm not letting you do it anymore." Jerry whispered. "Because I don't believe I'm afraid of what you are anymore. Now that you're out of the closet and out here in the room with the rest of the world you don't seem quite so scary anymore. Nope, not scary at all. And especially not in that get‑up! Oh Boy! If the guys could see you in that!"

     The monster seemed to be shrinking as Jerry talked, growing smaller, turning inside itself. Its menace wasn't so palpable anymore; its teeth not so long, it's claws not so scary.

     "So I'm taking a stand Mr. Big Bad Wolf. I'm saying No; you can't, and you won't scare me into losing what I've been given... I won't be eaten up by you, or by any other fear that may hide in any other closet. I'm opening all the doors and letting in the light. And we'll face them, won't we honey?"

     Jerry turned to Debbie, who was crying softly, tears streaming down her face.

     "Together sweetheart, forever together." she whispered. April blew him a kiss, her little hand extended to him like a lifeline; and after all, wasn't that just what it was?

     He turned back to the monster. It had shrunk down to almost his height, claws almost gone, retreated back inside of its hands. It was seemingly collapsing in on itself. Features distorted and flickered before Jerry. Fangs shortened, and then disappeared altogether, as the thing began to lose shape and consistency.

     "So go back to where you came from Mr. Big Bad Wolf, because I'm not... correction, we're not afraid of you anymore. Do you hear me? We are no longer afraid of the Big Bad Wolf!"

     The last three words that Jerry spoke were like a magic chant. Each word shrunk the wolf‑thing by half, then half again, and when Jerry said Wolf! it turned in on itself and with a final rolling growl disappeared.

     Jerry turned, and walked over to his family. All three were crying now; not with despair, but with joy. Jerry put his arms around his girls, holding them close, feeling their love, giving his own in return. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours.

     Finally Jerry kissed each one on the head and said, "I'm pooped. Who's for hitting the sack? But no bedtime stories tonight, okay?"

     "Oh daddy, you're silly." April said, clutching her Mom and Dad closer to her.

     Jerry returned the hug.

     "That's me princess; silly ol' dad. How 'bout a piggy‑back ride to bed?" and with that they raced down the hall together, laughing and loving all the way home.

THE END