Finding Monsters

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1-4783-3093-7

ISBN-13: 9781478330936

I dedicate this novel to my wonderful
husband, Brent and our parents. 
And special thanks to my favorite aunt Jean

Thank you to everyone who e
n
couraged
me during the writing process. 
Also, I would like to give a special thank you to my ed
i
tor, beta readers, and my list of growing fans!

THE HUMAN

I
knew I was dying. It’s weird the doctor felt the need to explain that to me. I hear him outside my bedroom talking to my mother, encouraging her to move me to a hospice. My mother refuses with hot i
n
dignation. I picture her flailing her arms and insisting I stay with the family ‘during this difficult time’. Truth is I’ve never really lived. I look around my bedroom, and where most teens have a stereo, sits a monitor for all the little gizmos attached to my body. No cool friendship beads or Hawaiian leis d
e
corate the posts of my bed, just two IV drips with drug cocktails potent enough to subdue a lumberjack. Of course, it’s the drugs that make the disease bearable. Not co
m
pletely free from pain, but the numbness helps. I hear my mother at the door again. She sneaks in silently just in case I’m asleep. I’m not.

“You’re still awake, Missy?” she asks, brushing her finge
r
tips across my brow.

“Yes, Mom, I’m not really tired right now.” But I’m always tired and I sleep most of the day. I just enjoy looking out the wi
n
dow when the sun is bright and the clouds are scarce. I love watching the birds perch on the feeder that hangs from my window. They are my entertainment, and currently there is a rose finch noshing my seeds. I can’t sleep through this.

“Do you need anything, sweetheart?”

“No. I’m fine. I know you have things to do. Don’t worry about me, Mom.” I try to sound cheerful so she won’t worry, but I know she’s in a constant state of worry. Flashing my bra
v
est smile, I reach for her hand. I don’t wince, even though it is pai
n
ful to move my stiff limbs. She holds my hand and kisses it before releasing her grip and retreating from the room. I can tell she’s going to cry again. I blow out a huge sigh.

A cool rush of air blows across my face. It feels good. The
antiquated
oscil
lating
fan was my idea. The ceiling fan kept me too cool but the floor fan blows air every few minutes making the air pleasant. The gust is strong enough to lift papers from the be
d
side table. The whoosh and crackle they produce bring back a memory, making me wince. Funny what you think of at times like this. The sound sends me back to my earlier chil
d
hood. I’m gripping the covers and stifling sobs into my pillow as I hear the other children playing outside my window, knowing I could never join them. Som
e
times I would hear another sound coming from under the bed. As a child, I thought it was a mo
n
ster. I was right. He’d softly call my name and ask if I could play with him. Once, I had the courage to look under the bed with a flashlight. Only the dust bunnies and missing socks greeted me, but I still heard his voice.

“Missy, come to me; let’s play.”

Sometimes I would answer him. “I can’t today; I’m sick.” He would grow silent but I felt sure he never left. I laugh to myself thinking back on those mem
o
ries and I swear I hear the monster calling me again.

“Missy, come to me. Let’s play,” he calls from his hiding place.

My muscles strain and it’s getting harder to breathe but I wheeze out, “I can’t today. I’m sick.” This time I’m startled to hear the monster laugh at me.

“Please come play,” he says.

It’s funny how I’ve never been afraid of him. I decide I should meet my mysterious monster before he stops calling or before I am unable to answer him. I ease into a sitting position and pull the covers away from my useless legs. Pushing them until my feet touch the floor, I wrap my frail arms around the bedpost and slide down. I lay there a moment, catching my breath. It is cooler on the hardwood floor and it soothes my bur
n
ing body. I lift my hand and tuck the bed ruffles under the mattress so I can see under the bed. Expecting to see the no
r
mal empty darkness, I’m stunned to see a pool of shimmering blue light rippling and sparkling bright. A hand extends from the center of the pool, gnarled, boney and beckoning me to come. I reach under the bed with my hand, boney and u
n
usually gnarled for my age, the ravages of my disease evident.

“Come, Missy,” he says as he reaches toward me.

“Alright,” I manage between gasps, sliding my hand into his. Our skin touches, and his old, crippled hand regains its youth. My hand strengthens and I can actually take a firm grip. Light spills quickly from the pool, engulfing me. The shimme
r
ing blue light is quiet, comfortable, and for once, I feel no pain. As the light fades, I find I am staring down at my body. I look shockingly lifeless, eyes closed, hands still, one reac
h
ing under the bed. My hair is pulled back from my face in a loose ponytail. I’m glad I didn’t lose my hair. The blonde curls reminded my mother of Shirley Temple. They’ve lost their luster over the years and the color has dulled, not that I’m complaining. I look much sm
aller than I imagined I would
, m
ore
skeletal than an
y
thing, as my Hello Kitty pajamas hang loose around my frame. My face is thin, the roundness of my cheeks gone. There is a smile on my face; I look at peace.

“We don’t have much time.”

I jump at the sound of my monster b
e
side me. We perch on the bedside dresser. I turn to see him for the first time. He is a giant swallowtail butterfly with gold and black wings. “You’re not the monster I e
x
pected,” I say smiling.

He motions to the small reflection from my clock radio. “Look at yourself.”

I turn to look at my reflection and am stunned to see I am also a giant swallowtail. I turn sideways to get a good look at my wings. I’m
not as pretty as he is, bu
t…
my thoughts trail off and I whirl around. “Can I really fly?” I
ask
,
without whee
z
ing, I notice.

“Flap your wings and give it a try, but we must hurry.”

I watch my companion and follow his example. We hover over the dresser and a rush of energy fills my soul. I follow him as he makes his way to a vent in the ceiling. We flutter through and come out an attic vent. Once outside, he sits on the branch of an oak tree. I settle beside him, and he shows me how to spread my wings and soak up the warm sunshine. I glance around at the beautiful summer day. The tree we land on holds my bird feeder. A small yellow finch eyes us greedily but d
e
cides on the seeds i
n
stead. The sky is cloud free, making the day perfect. I inhale deeply and catch the wo
n
derful scent of flowers nearby. I exhale without experiencing a fit of coughing. I can hardly contain my excitement so I turn to my monster to tell him but then remember I don’t know his name.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

He glances my way and gives me a smile only an insect could love. Wiggling his
antennae
at me he says, “I really don’t have a name. Do I need one?”

“I have to call you something. You call me by my name all the time. Maybe I can just call you Charlie; I’ve always liked that name.”

“If that pleases you, then you may call me Charlie,” he says.

I give him the best smile I can muster then we fly off t
o
gether in search of nectar. We glide with ease across the sky, spotting all sorts of fragrant flowers. Charlie says he is taking me to a special place where the flowers have the sweetest ne
c
tar. I follow him and am surprised when we land in a cem
e
tery. We make for a cluster of tulips, daisies, and pansies. Laughing, we drink our fill of the sweet liquid. The flavors are distinctly different but I like the tulips the best. After gorging ourselves, we travel high up in the nearby branches and sun our wings. We sit in silence for such a long time, I think Charlie is sleeping but then he b
e
gins to speak.

“Your body is dying, the one you left behind.”

“I know,” I say. “How long do I have?”

“A few days, maybe. They are moving you to a hospital now.” Charlie keeps his eyes averted as he a
n
swers, not quite looking at me, staring out at nothing.

“How long can I stay like this?” I ask the question but somehow already know the answer.

“The same length of time your body stays alive, but you will be free from the pain this way.” Charlie lays his
antennae
on mine, and it’s as though we are holding hands. “Enough of this, it’s time to play!” Charlie says, bouncing up from the branch and twi
t
tering around me.

“Yes, let’s play!” I say, joining him.

We sail high above the ground and coast on warm cu
r
rents of air. I marvel as the scenery changes and then I see the Pacific Ocean. It’s far more beautiful than any pictures I’ve seen of it. So many things I’ve never experienced as a human are possible now. I ti
n
gle with excitement at the many things I may be able to experience. Maybe now I can live. We drop down and skim the top of the waves and flutter around each ot
h
er in an aerial game of tag. We chase, dodge, and fly as fast as we can. We spot a small group of fruit trees and head for them. Other insects are busy eating, and we annoy them as best we can. A
f
ter several throw their insect insults at us, we leave. We laugh so hard it is difficult to fly straight. Nighttime approaches swif
t
ly and I wonder how the time went so fast. Back in my room, time’s slow pace is maddening. Now, free from my body, the day has flown past like a hummingbird in flight. We head back to the cemetery for a light dinner and a place to sleep. The i
n
side of a tree hollow is cozy when shared. Listening to a breeze rustling in the background provides the perfect lullaby, and soon we are fast asleep.

I
wake early as the dawn flashes its way across our tree. I don’t feel as good as the day before but r
e
markably better than most of my life. My wings droop with the morning dew and I lack energy. Suddenly, I realize the hollow is empty of Charlie. My heart skips in panic.

“You need to sun yourself
and
you will feel be
t
ter, Missy,” Charlie says as he flutters back in to check on me. I let out the breath I’m holding and follow him out onto a branch. We sit side by side and wait in s
e
rene silence for the sun to dry our dew-laden wings and energize us. He is right. As the sun warms me, I feel better. We spread our wings as far as they will go and soak in the heat. I daydream about the pr
e
vious day’s fun and can’t possibly think of anything better to do.

Then I think of my life as a human. Born a frail and sickly baby, doctors ma
r
veled at the fact I lived this long. I inwardly laugh at myself. I’m only fifteen years old. I’ve never played like other children. My ability to walk diminished at age ten with the full decline of my health starting. I would never run, swim, or turn a cartwheel. I would never go on a date with a boy, or kiss …