“Well, that’s a complicated question,” replied Tim as his hulking frame sank deeper into the edge of her mattress.  The glow of the night-light cast their shadows across the wall.

“Perhaps it’s because they want to prepare you,” said Tim.

“Prepare me for what?”

“For life.”

“Does life have monsters in it?”

“Well…”

Tim looked down at Katie, snuggled under the warmth of her favorite blanket.  He knew he shouldn’t be talking about this subject. It was a Monster Regulation cited in the official Monster Charter.  Discussing it with the child that he was supposed to be scaring was especially off-limits.

But Katie wasn’t like other children.  From the very first time she had seen Tim, she looked at him with a deep curiosity.  For weeks he had tried to terrify, spook or even shock Katie, but no matter what tactics he used, she always met his gaze with wonder and in many cases skepticism.  Eventually Tim gave up the struggle and, instead of trying to frighten her awake, he would rock her to sleep by gently bouncing up and down on the foot of her mattress.

Now she was eight-years-old and there was no end to her questions.  She would lie awake at night and ask about the universe, about human nature, about monster life – it was the most stimulating relationship Tim had had in years.

Tonight though, he was stumped.   “Why are there monster stories?” Katie had asked.  All of a sudden, Tim was having a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

He took a deep breath.

“…Katie, there are some pretty scary things out there in the world…things that you’ll learn about when you’re older.  Things like earthquakes and influenza and credit scores.  Or worse things like hunger and destruction and loss.

So when people tell monster stories, they’re letting you know that it’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to fear what’s in the dark, what you don’t know. Because that’s life. Life is scary and unknown.  Sometimes it’s horrifying–but sometimes it’s thrilling. And the more prepared we are, the more we can embrace the mystery of it all.”

Katie looked at Tim for a long moment, then responded, “OK. Fair enough. But why are there monsters?”

Tim held her gaze and replied, “Why are there humans?”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm, indeed…”

Could you please pass the salt?
“No!” he would say.
How ‘bout an ice cream?
“No and no way!”
Join us for dinner at Maria’s Café?
“No, no, and no! Niene, nah, and nay!”

He never would budge, his answer was set.
Never a “Maybe” or “Yeah” or “You bet!”
He didn’t care if he made you upset;
He threw “No’s” to the wind without care or regret.

Wanna come to my party?
“My answer is NO!”
There’s a dance this weekend…
“How NO can you go?”
Come see my play!  It’s a one monster show!
“I DESPISE theatre!  No, no and Noh.”

He was known as the NO – Big N and Big O
A name very fitting and quite apropo.
But the NO didn’t know, no, he just didn’t know,
That just saying “No!” made his life just ‘so-so.’

“No!” meant he’d never have his first kiss
And “No!” meant he’d never know chocolate as bliss.
For each “No!” he shouted meant he would miss
Trying out “that” and experiencing “this.”

So we caution you, reader, be careful with “No!”
And how many “No’s” you choose to bestow.
If you want to progress, to learn and to grow,
You’ll have to say “YES!” and see where you’ll go.

“Belinda, time to put your monster cards away.  We need to go to the grocery store.”
“Just five more minutes, Mom?!?”
“No, Belinda, we need to go now before the traffic hits.”
“But, Mom!”
“Belinda…”
“MOM!!!”
“Belinda Josephine Linnell!”
“WWWWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!”

Belinda could cry for hours, barely stopping to catch her breath, until at last her mother gave in to her relentless tears.

She was an expert at choosing inappropriate moments to throw tantrums–on packed subway trains, in library lines, or on that dreaded long flight to Aunt Claudia’s.  She’d wait for these moments and then request a butterscotch or a kitten or a ride on the ferris-copter.  The moment she didn’t get what she thought she perfectly deserved, the tears would flood the stage…

“WWWWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!”

One day, Belinda’s mother decided that she had had enough.  So she hatched a plan…

The very next morning, Belinda arrived at the breakfast table to find that her mother had made poached eggs and prawns instead of dishing out the usual Toasted Sugar Clouds.

“Mom, where are my Toasted Sugar Clouds?”
“I thought we’d try something new! Something different!”
“But, MO-OM! I want my Sugar Clouds!!!”

Her mother casually returned to her poaching.  This was Belinda’s cue to begin.  Her nose met her eyebrows in a crinkled, gruesome grimace and her stubby talons began to push against her wrinkly palms. But just as she went to open her wretched mouth in retaliation, a Mariachi band appeared:

“La cucaracha, la cucaracha,
ya no puede caminar
porque no tiene,
porque le falta
las dos patitas de atrás.”

The band circled the kitchen table in a conga line. Belinda’s mother joined the parade, balancing a freshly poached egg on her spatula, as they made their way out through the dining room. In a flash, they were gone. Belinda’s mouth hung open in disbelief.  Had that really just happened?   She looked down at her poached eggs and prawns, and because there was no one to cry to, she took a bite.

Later that day, still in a silent stupor from the morning’s events, Belinda was detaching her Barbie’s heads from their bodies when she heard her mother’s voice from downstairs.

 “Belinda, it’s time to go.  We’ve got to run some errands this afternoon and I was hoping to stop into the T.F. Maxx to get you some new school shirts.”
“Can’t I just stay home?  Pleeeeeease???”
“Not an option, Belinda.”
“But I’m old enough to watch myself, Mom!  I’m nearly seven!!”
“Sorry, darling.”
“WWWWWWWHHHHHHAAAAAAAAA…Huh?!?”

Belinda’s cry stopped short as two butterflies fluttered out of the air conditioning vent. Before she could think, hundreds more flooded into the room, circling her head, landing on her knees, and resting on her barbie dolls’ detached heads.

 “Belinda, it’s time.”

Belinda stared around the room in wonder.  Would the butterflies still be there when she got back?  What would she feed them? How did they get in her room in the first place?!?  They began to fly out the hallway, down the stairs, through the front door and into her mom’s station wagon. Belinda followed after, lacing up her shoes along the way and landing in the backseat of the car. The butterflies flew right through her passenger seat window and dispersed into the sunshine.

 A few hours later, Belinda and her mother were standing in line at the T.F. Maxx waiting to check out.

“Mom, can I have this glitter pen set?”
“Belinda, love, you’ve got three pen sets at home that you never use.”
“But this one has GLITTER!”
“Not today, Belinda.”
“MOM!”
“No.”

Belinda would not take no for an answer.  Her face soured and she held the glitter pens high above her head, preparing to launch them through the air.  But as she opened her mouth to release the dreaded scream, the manager of T.F. Maxx proclaimed,

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this very moment a live chicken will be released into the aisles of the home accessories department!  The first guest to catch it will win a free shopping spree!”

The store.  Went.  Wild.

Belinda looked around in utter amazement and frustration. Everyone was running around the store, LIKE CHICKENS, AFTER A CHICKEN!. Eventually the real chicken squawked and so did Lady Madie, the town librarian, as she clutched the little beast, heaving a breathless, “I won, I won!”

Things calmed down for a half-second and Belinda went to seize her opportunity.

She began to launch a cry to top all cries, but the roar of a dozen motorcycles muted her attempt. Twelve old motorcycles steered by twelve older biker dudes skidded through the aisles of the T.F. Maxx.

“Ladies and gentleman, do we have a treat for you!” announced the store manager.  “Please welcome the Minnesota Motorcyclin’ Monsters fresh from their fiftieth anniversary ride!”

“WHAT ON MONSTEARTH IS GOING ON?” yelled Belinda. “CAN’T A GIRL SHED A TEAR AROUND HERE? SOMEONE PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!”

Her prayers were immediately answered.  A very big celebrity walked in. She was like a queen and her name was Ofrah. Belinda was awestruck and reverently closed her mouth.

“I’m Ofrah.”
“I know,” said Belinda in her most polite voice.
“You need to STOP what you’re doing and look around you–mariachi bands, butterflies, runaway chickens, motorcycle gangs and the most powerful monster on earth.  We’ve all come to visit you to say: LOOK UP! LOOK OUT!  There’s a world out here. There’s more to life than what we think we need in one particular moment. Get over yourself!  Stop crying! Let Go! Oh, and listen to your mother.”
“Ummm…okay, Ofrah.”

Then Ofrah turned, winked at Belinda’s mother, and power-walked out of the T.F. Maxx, followed by the motorcyclists, Lady Madie and her chicken and her 11 bags of shopping spree, a couple of butterflies who had come along for the ride, and one Mariachi band member who desperately needed new socks.

In a matter of a minute, the store was back to normal.

Belinda’s mother stood a few feet away, with the newly-purchased school shirts.

“Come on, Belinda, we’ve got to get home before the traffic hits.”
“Okay,” said Belinda. “‘Cause who knows what might happen along the way, right?”
“Exactly,” said her mom. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

His mother would barely look at him.  He silently followed her through the house, into the kitchen– but before he could offer a word of explanation, she stated bluntly, “Lester, I can’t right now.  I need a moment.”

The words were crushing.  It’s not as though he had anything extraordinary to say in his defense, but he was desperate for his mother’s forgiveness.

“Just go to your room and think about what you’ve done.”  With that she left Lester and exited to the porch.  Lester watched as his mother sat on the swing and stared out at the graying horizon.

Reluctantly he turned and trudged to his bedroom.  His head hung low in shame.  “What was I thinking?” he thought.  Then moments later, “I wasn’t thinking.”  He hadn’t meant to hurt his mother, but his actions had repercussions.  And now, intentional or not, he was in trouble.  He stood in his bedroom doorway and wiped a tear from his cheek.  “What if she doesn’t love me anymore?” he thought.  “Or what if she doesn’t ever speak to me again?  Or what if she decides she’s better off without me and makes me go live at the YMCA?”

He took a deep breath and looked around the room.  What to do?

He picked up a train engine from the rug and put it in the red bin.  He collected seven PusPocket wrappers from the cushions of the window bench and threw them away.  Then he made his bed, even tucking in the corners of the sheets and fluffing up the pillows like his mother always did.  In twenty minutes the room had transformed.  Finally he walked to the closet to hang up yesterday’s pants and something caught his eye.

There it was. The only possible solution to his problem.  Baby blue, starched ruffles, bell-bottomed.  Lester’s mom had picked it out with great pride for Aunt Debbie’s wedding.  For Lester, it had been a miserable affair.  The tuxedo was itchy, stiff, and frilly.  The wedding photos were a comic strip of boyhood disgruntlement.  At the end of the evening, Lester had practically torn himself free from the outfit, his mother sighing and saying, “But you looked so handsome…”

For Lester to wear it once more would be the ultimate gesture of sacrifice.  One that his mother could not ignore.

It took twelve long minutes to put it on and by minute three he was sweating and itching.  He even put in the cufflinks and the collar stays.  Fully dressed, he tiptoed painfully downstairs. His mother was still swinging gently outside even though it had begun to rain. He crept into the kitchen and started the kettle.  He pulled his mother’s favorite over-sized mug from the shelf and put an earl grey teabag inside of it. He scooped out three tiny black ants from the golden FancyAnts tin and placed them on the saucer next to the spoon. He knew that she liked to stir them in herself.

He watched the kettle and waited for it to boil.  He waited.  And he waited.  And he waited.

Finally the low whistle began.  He turned off the stove and carefully poured the boiling water into the white mug.  Then he opened the screen door and stepped outside.

“Mom?”

Tyler sighed. “First off,” he thought, “I am a HE.”  He spread his wings and fluttered away frustrated.  The girls in the sandbox erupted in a chorus of “Awww…”

This was not an unusual occurrence for Tyler.  Countless times he had attempted to scare a group of children, only to find himself the bringer of joy rather than fear. As he flew away, all of his familiar insecurities buzzed around him:

“I hate the way I look.  Of all the monster bodies on earth, why was I stuck with this one?  Nobody fears me.  Inside I know that I’m a terrifying specimen of horror.  But on the outside, I look ridiculous.”

He puttered up to his house, but instead of stopping, he continued.

“What’s the point?” he thought. “I just can’t be ME anymore.”

He passed Belinda’s house and Henrietta’s place.  He flew over 137 Daffodil Lane, across the street and took the shortcut through the baseball fields, dodging a booger that Carlisle flicked his way.

“Even the other monsters don’t respect me.”

Tyler had no idea where he was going.  He was too busy feeling sorry for himself.

“Poor me,” he sighed.  “Poor pathetic me.”

Suddenly he found himself in a new part of town.  He had never been to Vinegar Street before.  He never even knew it existed.  He buzzed up to a sign that read: “Aero’s Construction: Future home of BOGO’s shopping centre.” Large yellow machines were lifting chunks of cement up and down, piling them into dump trucks to be carted away.

One bulldozer sat silent and unmanned.  Tyler drifted down and came to rest on the driver’s seat.  He was out of place here, but he was out of place everywhere, “So what does it matter?” he thought.  He hung his head low wondering if he would ever actually scare anyone.  The whir of the heavy machines drowned out all other sounds.

“Maybe I should give up being a monster.  I guess I could be an accountant– I’m good at counting.  Or maybe I’ll just go to Antarctica and start a ‘cool’ band called ‘The Rejects.’  Or maybe…”

His daydreams were interrupted when the door to the cab was thrown open and a large, burly, bearded construction worker climbed inside.  “MR. AERO” was stenciled in large block letters across the front of his yellow safety helmet.

Tyler was irritated at the distraction.  This was his sulking spot!

“SOMEONE IS IN HERE!”

“What the…?   Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!”

Mr. Aero squealed in an uncharacteristically high pitch.

“A bug!  Eeeeeeee!!!  I hate bugs!  It’s on me!  Get it off me!  Somebody get it off me!!  Help!!!”

Mr. Aero fell backwards out of the cab onto his rotund bottom.  Then he leapt to his feet and scampered across the construction site, brushing off his shoulders, arms, and head.

“Get it off me!!!”

Tyler froze.

“Did I… Did I really… I… I just scared that guy!!!!!!”

In this instant Tyler understood that he was Tyler for a reason.

He had great monster powers after all.  Secret monster powers.  So secret, even he didn’t know his own strength until this moment.

He dusted off his red shell, spread his wispy wings and flew off the seat with gleeful purpose.

“Yahoooooo!” he sung in a voice just loud enough to muffle the shrieking cries of Mr. Aero, who by now had begun to tear off his construction uniform…

For I do things my way
And you do them yours,
Separate and each complete.

It takes too much time
To understand why
You are the way that you are,

And it’s hard to explain
What makes me myself,
When you see it as strange and bizarre.

So instead let us live
In this very same world
A matter of meters away–

I’ll look down at my talons
While you stare at your claws,
As we each go about our own day.

We may breathe the same air,
We may drink the same water,
We may stare at the same sunny sky,

But as for each other,
It’s best we pretend
We’re invisible as we go by.

“I can’t write a poem.” “I can’t sing a song.”
“I can’t build a thing-a-ma-loo.”
The Can’t will rejoice and do flips in the air
As you limit the things you can do.

The Can’t has a sister and her name is Won’t
And wherever he goes, she’s with he.
And the two of them joined will make sure that you
Will never be what you could be.

For it’s certain that when you say “I CAN not,”
“I WILL not” will follow, you know.
And when you WILL not, than of course you DO not.
And if you DO not, you won’t grow.

So reader, beware of this terrible pair
In your moments of incertitude.
And never allow the doubt in your mind
To decide what you can and can’t do.

And we stretch up to the sky
Reach up, way up high
And we say “Ooooooo!
Ooooo, oooo, oooo!”

We can dance
In our monster pants
We can step
With the best

And we march around all day
Singing all the way
And we say “Ooooooo!
Ooooo, oooo, oooo!”…

Now we break down…
Break it down and jump, jump
Break it down and jump, jump
Break it down and jump, jump, jump, jump

We twist around
And to the ground
We then pop up
And say, what, what, what?

And we march around all day
Singing all the way
And we say “Ooooooo!
Ooooo, oooo, oooo!”

Break down and roll
Break it down and roll
Break it down and roll like John Travolta

We got moves
Monster moves
We got grooves
In our shoes

And we march around all day
Singing all the way
And we say “Ooooooo!
Ooooo, oooo, oooo!”

And we say “Ooooooo!
Ooooo, oooo, oooo!”

The world is against me.
My oatmeal is runny.
And I’ll never have my own robot.

Nobody understands me.
Or likes me.
Or wants me around.

I don’t even want me around.
I wish I would just disappear.
Maybe it would be better if this oatmeal just swallowed me up.

I don’t want a hug.
No, and no thank you.
I said NO THANK YOU.

Uggghhh…
Fine.
But it’s not gonna make me feel any better.

Well…
Okay…
I guess it didn’t make me feel any worse…

“There are no new ways to scare children,” he would declare gruffly. “It’s all been done before.”

At monster parties or conventions, he’d listen to his colleagues as they shared details of their most successful scares.  Then, as they’d reach the climax of their stories, he’d interrupt with “Oh yea, I did that one back in ‘93.  It works better when you use Soy milk.” or “Ugh, that was all the rage in 1926.  Everyone was doing the SockBite back then.”

One evening, however, one of his fellow monsters, Marika Mashkid, retaliated, “Well, if you’re such an expert, why haven’t you come up with some new and amazing scare tactic?”  Shadow stopped short. He was stumped.  Marika smirked and shouted for all to hear: “I dare you! I dare you, Shadow, to stop harping about what happened in the past and give us something for the future!”  After a long moment of silence, Marika harrumphed in triumph and sauntered away leaving a trail of stench behind her.

All eyes were on a speechless Shadow.  He stood motionless, gingerale in hand, contemplating the challenge before him.  She had made a good point.  Now what was he going to do about it…?

The next morning, Shadow went to his neighborhood grocery store to pick up some capers for a Remoulade dressing.  He walked through the produce aisle in a funk, thinking, “How in the world will I come up with a new way to scare people?  What do I have to offer that hasn’t been done before?  And what’s the point anyway?”

He glowered at a nearby display of potatoes and in a moment of utter frustration knocked the entire pile to the ground.

Shadow’s anger quickly dissolved into tears.  He went to rescue the rolling spuds and then sat with them on the display table. He wished he could just disappear. Without much thought he began to replace the display; the mountain of potatoes growing higher and higher around him until at last Shadow was completely covered.

“That’s it,” thought Shadow, “I’ll just spend the rest of my life buried in carbohydrates.  I mean, who cares, right?”

It was at that moment that ten-year-old Trista Schmidt called out to her mother, “How many do we need for the mashed potatoes, mom?”

“Seven, sweetheart.” called her mother as she waited in line at the deli counter.

Trista leaned over, counting to herself “One potato, two potato, three potato, four… five potato, six potato, seven potato…”

“ROAR!!!!” shouted Shadow.

He had never seen a child jump so high WHILE peeing her pants.  He chortled with a kind of satisfaction he hadn’t experienced in years. True, it was the same old startling trick, and maybe he hadn’t invented anything new, but what he felt at that moment was pure joy.  He couldn’t wait to thank Marika at the next monster party.