“Tidy your room,” Mommy used to say. My mommy that is.
I used to tell her that I was a good boy. I always put my toys away. But in the morning there was a mess on my floor. Every time. Whatever I put away under my bed the night before would be scattered on the floor when I awoke.
So one night I didn’t go asleep. I tidied all my heaviest books and my biggest toys and I put them all under my bed. And I waited with the sheets pulled high to my neck. Of course, I slept.
I woke to a crashing sound, as heavy books were thrown from somewhere and landed in a heap next to the door. From somewhere down there I heard a low wet smacking sound like slabs of meat flapping together.
“Tidy your room!”
And then some rasping howl cried “Yessssss Mommy”
I screamed and screamed until the lights came on, and my Mommy stood in the doorway looking at the mess. She was very cross. Through my tears I tried to tell her about under my bed.
But she should never have looked.
My room’s tidy now. It’s what Mommy would have wanted.