“There’s a lion in my closet,” Marty told Annie.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“There’s is. I’ll grow a wart on my tongue and scales on my back if I’m fibbing.”
“You’re lying.” she insisted. “I’m telling mommy.”
Before Annie ran out of his bedroom, he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her around. He clamped a hand to her mouth before she could scream. “Annie don’t.”
He gestured with his eyes toward his closet. The door was cracked and at the moment (to Annie, at least) it felt like it would suddenly swing open and ferocious lion would leap out. She looked to her right and then back at him again. Marty wasn’t lying. He didn’t look like he was.
“Don’t,” he continued, “it’ll hear ...view middle of the document...
Fear seeped out of him, gluing the seat of this pants to the bedspread. And it wouldn’t mattered anyway, he’d shut the bedroom door on his way in.
He trapped and couldn’t think straight, neither bellow a scream.
His bedroom was dim and would have been darker, if not sunlight pouring through the window to the right of this bed. He wished it were dark, because at least then he would only haven seen two golden balls staring at him from the closet; blinking periodically, instead of a luxuriant mane sprouting from a head the size of a big rig tire. He swallowed, surprised the could manage that.
“Hello, Marty,” the lion said, and Marty’s heart nearly stopped. Lions can’t talk. Lions don’t come out of little boys closet’s either.
“I’m hungry,” it said. “Very hungry, for forked tongued boys.”
“Not real-not real-not real.”
“I’m very real, Marty,” it said. “Real and hungry.” Then a large pin tongue lolled out of its mouth, licking around in a savoring gesture.
It was coming out of the closet, and taking its time. It could have leapt out and made the ten foot jump to Marty’s bed, but Marty devised it was playing with him...playing with its food.
“I’m going to eat you now, Marty. Down to the bone. I’ll start with your tummy first, because that’s where all the yummy stuffs at. And you’d better stay quiet, unless you want your sister to be next. I’ll start with her feet and work my way up.”
It was closer now, just a foot away from the bed. Marty shut his eyes, tears warming his cheeks. One paw was on his bed, bed legs groaning with the massive beast’s weight.
This was it, Marty thought.
He opened his mouth to call for his mom, but nothing came out. Worse still, he wet his pants. Mom wouldn’t like that. Of course, it wouldn’t matter.
He tried thinking about all of the things he hadn’t done as yet, when
“Marty Cooper, what have I said about lying?!”
He opened his eyes and saw his mother standing over him. dressed in her favorite blue housedress.
Sandra Cooper looked down at her boy, hands itching to come away from her hips to throttle him. She had talked to him about lying, but he kept on doing it as if it didn’t matter what she said. And worse, he’d gotten Annie to start lying. Marty looked toward the closet, wondering what just happened.
He couldn’t answer her. How could he? “About what?” he finally managed.
She reached down and twisted his ear.
“Ouch! I wasn’t lying!”
“When your father comes home I want to hear you tell him what you told Annie.”
She let go of his ear and he rubbed it, completely forgetting he’d just pissed his pants.
She reminded him, yet not angrily.
“If your father knew you’ve wet yourself, he’ll have a fit.”
He looked up at her fearfully.
“But he won’t hear it from me,” she assured, and took a seat next to him. “I don’t like it when you lie, Marty. We’re talked about this. It’s a bad habit.” She paused, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Do you remember the story about the boy who cried wolf?”