Under the Slats

My five-year-old keeps sobbing about the monster under her bed. I've crawled under there countless times to show her there's absolutely nothing but dust. Tonight, losing my patience with the nightly routine, I grabbed a heavy flashlight and slid completely underneath to prove my point. Lying on my back, I aimed the beam straight up at the wooden slats supporting her mattress. The wood was densely covered in hundreds of frantic, freshly gouged tally marks.