Frank and Viola never talked about the monster in their
cellar—that just wasn’t how it was done. Certainly they knew about him. They
had, in fact, put him there themselves one fine September day when the perfect
autumn air left him feeling as sleepy and content as monsters ever got, and
they could trick him into descending below.
Once he was there, he was trapped, and the people above
never spoke of him again.
It wasn’t easy to live in a house with a monster in the
cellar. Sometimes there were horrible groanings from below. Viola would say,
“My! These old houses settle terribly, don’t they?”
Sometimes Frank thought wistfully about the amount of space
down there. “One of these days, I’m going to turn the cellar into a wood shop,”
he said. “I’ve got some great ideas for furniture I’d like to build.” But, of
course, he never did. He couldn’t open the cellar without letting the monster
out. It was easier to forget about building furniture.
Though they never said so out loud, both Frank and Viola had
a vague hope the monster would starve to death down there. Unfortunately, it
didn’t work that way. He found lots of tasty monster-things to eat in their
cellar, and over time he grew stronger instead of weaker. Frank hesitantly suggested
once that they should go downstairs and try to kill the beast before the
situation got worse, but Viola gave him a look of such hatred—and burned his
dinner, besides—that he never mentioned it again.
The monster groaned louder over the years, so Frank and
Viola started shouting at each other instead of talking. The monster found a
weak spot in their floorboards where he could stab a claw upward and try to
gouge them. Frank and Viola learned to avoid that spot. They learned to avoid
lots of spots.
One day, Viola’s friend Marge came over for coffee. In the
middle of a conversation about their husbands and their plans for their
upcoming retirements, the monster gave a particularly loud groan. Viola didn’t
seem to hear it, but Marge put her coffee cup down and said, “Viola—when are
you going to do something about that monster in your cellar?”
Viola gasped. “Monster? In my cellar? How dare you!”
“I used to have one. George and I finally killed it, and
we’re much happier now.”
Viola stood up. She was so angry her hands shook. She
snatched Marge’s coffee cup away and dumped it out in the sink. “Get out of my
house. You’re no friend of mine.”
Once Marge was gone, Viola took her coffee cup outside and
smashed it against the cellar door. She screamed, “Shut up! Shut up and leave
me alone!”
She screamed at the memory of Marge, of course. There was
certainly nothing else for her to scream at.
Viola cleaned up the shattered pottery. She went back inside
and turned the television on—loud. She calmed down and regained control of
herself.
A monster in her cellar. The very idea. Ridiculous.
