We stop looking for monsters under out bed when we realize they're inside us…
-Jordyn Berner
When Isaac was eight, he was afraid of monsters. Every night, without fail, he'd beg his parents to check under the bed. Every night, without fail, his mother and father would each crouch down on one side of the bed and lift the covers. They'd stay there for a moment then stand up.
His mother would lean in and kiss him gently on the head. "There's nothing there, dear," She assured him. "You're safe."
His father would nod, confirming that both sides were monster free. Isaac would relax and his parents would leave, but not before gently telling him they loved him and to sleep tight.
"See you in the morning, Isaac." His mother would say as she shut the door, like a secret promise between the two that he'd be safe all night. That she would be there if he needed her, ready to calm and protect him.
And it worked. For years, he was secure in the knowledge that his parents kept the monsters away. And he was happy.
Then he turned ten. His mother died.
His father still checked for monsters, but with less enthusiasm. He stopped hugging him. He never kissed him. And never, ever did he say he loved him. It was like those words had been vetoed. Making home feel a little cooler. A little darker. But it was still home. His father still checked for monsters. He still defended his son.
It got worse when Camden enlisted, but it wasn't until the older had been killed that it all fell apart.
Mr. Lahey refused to check for monsters anymore. Isaac spent the first night crying and trembling in his somehow darker-than-usual room. Missing his brother and his father.
Then the violence started. It wasn't too bad at first. Mostly shouting and a few slaps here and there. By then, Isaac wasn't afraid of monsters under the bed anymore.
He was locked in the freezer for the first time on the four year anniversary of his mother's death.
That was when he realized that monsters didn't live under the bed. They never had. No, they lived inside people. Stalking in the corners, waiting for the moment when you were at your weakest. Then they struck, ripping you apart until you were unrecognizable to the rest of the world. Making you something you weren't.
That was what he told himself at least whenever his father was hitting him particularly hard, or when he was lying in the freezer, trying not to breath too quickly for fear of running out of oxygen. The man doing this to him… This wasn't his father. His true father, the one who kept the monsters away, had died with his mother. The monsters no longer lived under the bed.
They inhabited the shell that was his father. And they were making up for all the time they'd lost.