“She calls it a game. This was drawn by her.”
He said, “We should talk to someone.” A child psychologist. She may be envious or stressed.”
I agreed. We scheduled a session next week.
We never arrived.
Because Lina vanished three days later.
It was Sunday morning. I made pancakes. Elsie’s diaper was changed by James. We had spotted Lina dancing with her stuffed duck in the corridor fifteen minutes earlier.
Then… quiet.
No steps. No buzzing. Voiceless.
The residence was searched. Every room. Every closet. Every crawlspace. Front door locked. Backyard gate closed.
Panic ensued.
Police were summoned.
The neighborhood was searched. Dogs, drones, etc.
Nothing.
James unlocked it four hours later, shortly before authorities came to demolish our garden shed.
There she was.
Sitting on the floor, hugging Elsie.
Elsie.
We didn’t notice she left.
Legs buckled. Crying, I fell onto the grass.
James rushed inside with both females.
I sat by Lina on her bed once she calmed down.
“Why, sweetheart?” I asked, holding still. What made you take Elsie? Why’d you hide?
She seemed serious at me. “The monster announced his arrival. I concealed her. He offered to take her if I didn’t.
My hands shook.
Did someone enter the house? I whispered.
Shaking her head. “He doesn’t need doors.”
I had no idea what to believe.
We took her to a specialist that week. A psychologist talked to her for two hours.
He sat us down and said, “She’s bright. Highly creative. But there are indicators of anxiousness, perhaps trauma.”
“Trauma?” James concurred. “From what?”
The therapist paused. Has anybody mistreated her? Or scared her? Anyone close to family?”
Both shook their heads.
“She’s fixated on this ‘monster,’” she said. “She thinks she’s protecting her sister. A youngster her age has a lot of responsibility.”
No sleep that night. Neither did James.
Lina and I drove the following morning. Her and me alone.
We got ice cream. Sat in park. Laughed. As she finished her cone, I whispered quietly, “Sweetheart, this monster…” anybody you know look like him?
She glanced down.
Is someone real?
A lengthy pause. She said, “He smells like Daddy.”
I blinked. “What?”
He looks unlike Dad. Sometimes he sounds like him. When Dad shouts at the TV or slams the door.”
Holding breath. Had Daddy ever terrified you?
She nods. “Only when you’re away.”
I challenged James that night.
He collapsed.
Explained everything.
He began drinking throughout my late pregnancy. One or two beers. But enough that he lost his fury when I was at my sister’s or slept early.
Yell at Lina. Attack her. He grasped her wrist too firmly when she spilled liquid on the carpet.
“She never told me,” he cried. “I doubted she remembered.”
She remembered. She recalled everything.
She transformed him into a monster with her afraid and confused thinking.
James left that night.
He began treatment. As did Lina.
Over time, things improved slowly and painfully.
Lina stopped whispering to Elsie. Done sketching faceless dudes. Laughed again.
Every Saturday, she and James have supervised visits. He’s clean six months.
Several months later, I tucked her in.
She glanced at me and said, “I don’t need to keep secrets anymore.”
At once, my heart shattered and mended.
Sometimes the monsters aren’t beneath the bed. We find them in loved ones.
People may change. Most of all, children need a household without secrets.
If this story moved you, share it. Someone may be hidden behind a child’s whisper.