Chapter 5: Scaredy Cat

He ran across the hall with fear in his eyes, his small pyjama-clad body wrapped with his favourite orange blanket.

"MOM!"

He went inside his parent's room, his mother Rosalind, reading a book, and his father, Sarov, brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

"MOM!" little Eric said urgently, jumping in bed and crawling towards her. "Mom!"

"Yes, hijo?" she said, eyebrows raised and not taking her eyes off her book. "Want anything?"

"Can I sleep with you and papi tonight?" requested the eight year old, his eyes pleading. He hugged his blanket.

"Again, Eric?" Rosalind said, looking at her youngest child.

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no," chimed his father as he got out the bathroom. His curly black hair was still slightly wet and his five o'clock shadow still unshaved. "I don't think so, Eric."

"Why not?" Eric said, staring at his Russian father. They almost looked alike, if it were not for his eyes. He had his mother's eyes.

Sarov sighed. Here we go again.

"What did I tell you about sleeping in mami and papi's room?" he said, his voice in a Cuban accent, though there was still a hint of Russian. They spoke three languages in the house: English, Russian, and Spanish. It was part of their rule and learning program and he was no exception. He had to learn Spanish.

"To not do it."

"And what are you exactly doing right now?"

"But—"

"You're eight, hijo," his mother cut in, placing the book on the bedside table. She looked at him and smiled endearingly. "You're already a big boy."

"You call me a big boy for just being eight?" Eric said in indignation. "It makes me wonder what you call papi for being forty-five."

"Hey," warned his father, raising a finger, "watch how you talk to your mother. And let's make this clear, I am only thirty-three."

"It doesn't matter, papi," Eric said. "Everything above my age is old." He gave him a smile.

Sarov's eyes narrowed and it trailed from his son to his wife. "I blame you for his dogma," he said, giving his wife a nasty look, which just made her laugh. He went back to Eric, saying, "And as for you, young man, you're not sleeping here. You and your sister have your own room."

"But—"

"No buts, hijo. Listen to your father."

"But the monsters!" the boy whined.

His father ran a hand over his face, grumbling something in Russian. "Not again..." he said. "MARISOL!"

An eleven year old girl wearing her night dress suddenly entered, smiling. She was listening outside. "I was waiting for you to call me."

"Did you tell your brother that there were monsters in his closet again?"

"Uh-uh," she uttered, shaking her head.

"Don't lie to your father, hija," Rosalind said to her.

Sarov gazed at her. "Hay que decir la verdad," he said.

"I am," she said, her face as innocent as ever.

"Is that true?" said Sarov, checking her expression. He knew something was missing. "You didn't tell Eric anything about monsters in his closet?"

"Nope," she said, and then smiled sweetly. "I told him they were all under his bed."

"Marisol!" scolded her mother. She was now comforting Eric, hugging him.

Sarov chuckled looking at his little girl. Albeit she looked more like her mother except for the eyes, her traits were all him, reckless and devious. Just like when he was a child.

Marisol caught her father looking at her and gave him a saccharine smile, which he returned.

If little Eric was a mommy's boy, dear Marisol was a daddy's girl.

"I want to sleep here. The monsters are under my bed and I don't wanna be eaten. No way!" He covered himself with his blanket. "Nuh-uh."

Sarov chuckled again as he shook his head from left to right. "Come here, Mari."

Marisol ran towards him and was lifted by his muscular arms. They joined Eric and Rosalind in bed.

"Now, Eric," Sarov began with Marisol sitting on his lap, "For the hundredth time, there are no such things as monsters."

"How would you know?" he said, popping his head out from under his orange blanket.

"I just know," Sarov said with a shrug.

Eric stared at him for a moment. "Sorry, papi, but that's not convincing enough."

"He does have a point," Rosalind remarked, getting a look from her husband.

"Okay," going back to his son. "How about if I told you I threw them at the pond last night?"

"So? They can swim," Eric told him. "I saw it on T.V."

"Oh, god..." Sarov muttered. Stupid television.

Rosalind giggled. I told him it was a bad idea to let him watch T.V.

"Okay," the father continued, not giving up. "What if papi said he drowned them? Hmm?"

"Then ITS papi is going to get you!" yelped Eric, as scared as ever.

Rosalind laughed while Sarov hung his head, defeated.

Marisol sighed, not taking any more of this. "There're no monsters, Eric," she finally said. "Don't be such a scaredy-cat."

"But you said—"

"I was only kidding," she said. "It was a joke."

Eric stared at her, not believing that she had tricked him again. He frowned. "Well, it wasn't funny!"

"It was for me," she smiled.

"Okay, okay," Sarov interrupted before they got into a fight. "Now that that's settled, can we all please go to sleep? You two have school tomorrow and we have to go to work."

"Okay," Eric said, tired from all the talk about monsters that didn't even exist. Stupid Marisol. "Good night."

"Good night, you two."

Sarov and Rosalind gave their children a kiss, one on each cheek.

"And Marisol?"

"Yes, papi?" she said, looking over her shoulder.

"Don't talk to your brother about any more monsters, okay?"

"Okay."

That was too simple. Sarov wasn't convinced. "You promise?"

Marisol smiled. "I promise I won't tell him any more about monsters."

"Good girl," smiled Sarov. The minute Marisol got out of their bedroom; he said to his wife, "I think you should keep on reading, Rosa."

"I thought we were going to sleep," she said, about to close the lights.

"I just have this feeling, that's all," he said, making himself comfortable in bed. He turned to her. "I think Marisol is planning something again."

Rosalind's eyes narrowed, giving him an exasperated look. "I blame you for her twisted sense of humour."

Now, it was Sarov's turn to laugh.

Back in their bedroom, Eric and Marisol settled in bed, the lights already closed.

"I'm really sorry about telling you there were monsters, Eric," Marisol said, pulling her blanket over her body. "It really was just a joke."

"It's okay," Eric mumbled, squeezing his blanket. "Just tell me that monsters don't really exist."

"Don't worry, baby brother," she said, "they don't"

"Thanks," he said, "Good night, Mari."

"Good night."

Finally, Eric will be able to sleep peacefully since there were no longer monster in his closet or under his bed, because they didn't exist.

After a few short minutes, Marisol asked if Eric was already asleep.

"Not yet," he said.

"Can I ask a question?" she said, staring at the ceiling.

"What question?" he asked, turning to her.

"I was just wondering..."

"What?"

She propped herself up using her elbow, facing him. "Do you think vampires are real?"

Eric froze.

"Because I've read from a book that when a vampire needs to eat, he goes to a house—" Eric's eyes went wide "--and while his victims are sleeping—" Marisol paused for effect "--he'll bite their necks and suck all the blood until there's nothing left!"

Eric dashed out their room, screaming, "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!"

Little Horatio: Monsters...every kid's fear whether it be the boogie man, werewolves, vampires, psychotic tooth fairies, a drunk and dangerous Santa or sadistic brain-sucking butterflies. Yet, I don't seem to remember being scared of such things when I was a kid. Now, stuffed toys—demented stuffed toys. They're creepy. You know, with their glossy eyes that keep looking at you, and that permanent smile that makes you think they're on to something extremely twisted. (Shiver) I curse the people who created Chuckie—that stupid, crazy, two-feet killing machine. What were they thinking?!

Anyway, enough of what creeps me out, I want to know what creeps you guys out. You know, when you guys were only kids. I know it'll be interesting.

Well, if you don't want to, that's fine.

But remember, people, reviews are like buried treasure; once I see them, they make my eyes sparkle. (Smile)

Thank you for reading!