[Complete] [1896][Short Horror Story] The Monsters

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“Remember, don’t open the basement door,” the familiar voice warned. “There are monsters.”

Hearing the same old warning every day for five years was enough to make my eyes roll upward, but I wasn’t about to be rude to him.

“Jo eh, Papa,” I recited, like a cassette tape on loop, nodding my head up and down.

A hand appeared, placing a new stack of my favourite Manner Schnitten beside my hill of colouring books on the wooden desk. My blue eyes glanced, then shifted back to the drawing on a sheet of A4 paper. Under the white glare of the red swing-arm lamp, my hands carefully guided the colouring pencils.

“Good boy,” Papa’s kindly, Santa Claus–like voice replied, setting down a cassette tape next to my Walkman and cheerfully blurting, “Alles Liebe zum Geburtstag, Franz!”

Papa might have worried too much about the monsters, but he never forgot my special days, especially my eighth birthday.

The sight of a new tape triggered a beaming “Danke schön, Papa!” from me. Happiness took over, and I gave him a bear hug before returning to colouring.

His back arched as his gaze lingered on my sketch, and his hands lightly stroked my combed blonde hair.

My right hand moved the blue pencil left and right, breathing life to my sketch of a photo from the 5 June 2023 Der Standard article. It depicted an Austrian Federal Police Porsche Taycan patrolling near a Porsche showroom in Vienna.

“Franz, this is a very beautiful drawing,” Papa said. “Just like them, but even better,” he added, pointing to the wall above my desk, where a handful of completed sketches watched me silently. Compared to them, my drawing of the street scene with the police car had finer details, more refined shadows, and realistic blue light rays.

The corners of my mouth curled into a smile. “They wouldn’t have been possible, Papa, without your wonderful gifts.” I glanced at the small mountain of newspapers and National Geographic magazines I had read.

Papa had given them to me after discovering my intellectual abilities at five, wanting me to expand my German and English vocabulary. A year earlier, he had begun encouraging me to strengthen my memory and artistic skills by sketching photos from memory.

 A small, cheerful laugh echoed from Papa. “You definitely like the police car,” he commented as I nodded.

Over the months, I had drawn many pictures from memory: a Despicable Me one-eyed Minion, Judy Hopps from Zootopia, a ladybug, a pigeon, a ginger cat, a golden retriever, an Alpine Dachsbracke, a red deer, an elephant, a humpback whale, an iPhone 15, a New York City taxi, a Tushek Aeon E, a few Wiener Linien buses, the Hermesvilla, the Wiener Riesenrad and finally, the Danube Tower.

But nothing could surpass that awesome photo of the Austrian Federal Police Porsche Taycan, complete with cool, flashing blue lights. Or what Papa called sirens.

“Franz, the cake’s still in the oven, so I’ll go to the kitchen to wait. As requested, it’s your favourite chocolate Mozart Torte,” Papa said, patting my back.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, leaving me alone with my drawing, his usual parting reminder cut through the air: “Remember, if you open the basement door, nothing will stop the monsters from getting you. Servus!” He waved his hand as he left.

“Servus, Papa!” I called back as I turned and waved.

Once the door’s soft wooden and metallic clicks told me my privacy had returned, I slipped the cassette into my Sony Walkman. My prized possession since my seventh birthday.

Draping my headphones over my head, I closed my eyes and swayed to the melancholic, relaxing music.

My ears filled with the pleasant singing of the 1978 song Honesty by Billy Joel. A welcome respite after repeatedly listening to the same Mozart tape I’d received the year before.

As the final lyrics, “Honesty is hardly ever heard, and mostly what I need from you,” faded, I looked up and realized I’d forgotten to cross out that day’s date on the calendar. Uncapping a red marker, I drew a bold X over 6 October 2025.

Seeing that the date was only a few days before Papa’s forty-second birthday, my thoughts drifted away.

My brain pressed the play button on an archived memory of his fortieth. After the candle on his Maulwurfkuchen cake went out, he told me his wish was to grant any of mine within reason.

 I had taken the chance to ask, “Papa, can you tell me more about the monsters? What do they look like? And what happened to Mama?”

He paused, cupping his chin, before his voice returned, low and careful.

“I don’t really want to talk about what they look like,” he said. “Only that they’re super ugly. You’ll know if you ever see them, but you won’t, as long as I’m around.”

A sad sigh escaped him, his eyebrows drooping. “As for Mama, well... when you were three, I...no...she...accidentally left the basement door unlocked one night. The monsters came and took her.”

“You were lucky, Franz,” he continued softly. “I managed to fight them off before they could take you too. I was glad you slept through it all.”

Papa said that ever since that night, he’d become the monsters’ Boandlkramer. That was why only he could open the basement door if needed. The monsters wouldn’t dare confront their boogeyman.

“They’ll never touch me, but they’ll do anything to get to you, much like the Habergeiß,” he finished, stroking my cheek. “But you’re Papa’s Schatz, and Papa will make sure no one, no one, ever takes you away.”

His arms wrapped around me as he lifted me onto his lap, before I cut the cake for him. In between bites, I asked what Mama was like before the monsters killed her. Papa exhaled loudly before replying with a little frown. “Well, the only thing I want to say is that she always called you Maus. Because to her, you looked like a little mouse when you were born.”

The mention of Maus stirred faint memories of Mama’s face.

Her comforting smile and beautiful blue eyes, accompanied by a soothing singing voice that sang me to sleep that still echoed in my mind. 

If only the monsters hadn’t taken her.

The memory came to an end. My left cheek felt a tear flowing down. Turning my head towards the marble figurine of Jesus at the tiny altar Papa set up on my desk, my knees met the cold floor, and my hands clasped together.

I whispered my heart out.

‘Thank you Lord for Papa, the cake and everything I received. Please, keep the monsters away.’

 As I sat back in my chair, I decided to pause my sketch. Grabbing a colouring book, I flipped to an uncoloured page showing a street scene filled with houses. Just as my green pencil was about to land on a tree, my ears perked up.

A faint shout cut through the music from my headphones. 

Puzzled, I took them off. The shouting was unmistakable. 

“Papa?” I called out.

His loud cries echoed through the house.

Instinctively, I flicked the table lamp’s switch to ‘OFF’ and scampered under my desk.

Beneath the cover of darkness, my palms pressed against my ears as the shouting grew louder. 

The words were too distorted to understand, but I recognized Papa’s voice.

A strange, battle-like cry erupted from him, followed by several deafening bangs. Each one made the walls shake and my heart jump. Then came the ringing silence.

His voice never returned.

That was when the realization hit me.

The monsters.

They weren’t afraid of Papa anymore.

They had found a way to fight Papa.

He’s gone.

Rapid footsteps thundered closer, each one heavier than the last.

I closed my eyes and covered my ears, silently praying. The footsteps halted, and for a moment, silence hung heavy, until a violent thud shattered it.

The wooden door burst open with a deafening slam against the wall, as broken bits of metal clattered to the floor with a harsh metallic clang.

They had figured out how to break in, my mind exclaimed.

My teeth chattered, and I swallowed hard, trying to force down the rising panic while the

sound of trampling grew louder, closer, heavier.

The footsteps stopped in front of the desk. I opened my eyes, which could barely see anything except the faint outlines of two black human-like legs.

Legs that were motionless. Deliberate. Waiting.

I held my breath and sent out a silent prayer.

Please...Please...Please...Please Lord, don’t let them spot me.

A reassuring silence lingered in the air for a second or two before leaving for good.

The pair of legs bent down, and I could vaguely make out the monster’s horrendous face. 

No mouth, ears, nose, or chin. Just blackness with a white plate and two green glows that passed for eyes. A faint static-like hiss came from where its mouth should have been.

A few tense seconds ticked by.

Nothing happened. Its eyes just stared at me.

Then, all of a sudden, a pair of black, warm, leathery hands shot forward and clamped around my waist.

As the monster pulled out into the darkness, I screamed and thrashed, hammering my fists against its back. My nails raked its hide, and my teeth sank deep into its rough leather shoulder.

It didn’t even flinch.

“Please don’t eat me!” I cried.

The monster carrying me darted away like a shadow slipping down an alley, followed by others exchanging strange, wordless gestures.

Its hand clamped over my eyes, plunging the world into darkness. Through a tiny gap between its fingers, I caught a glimpse that froze my blood.

Papa lay motionless on a brown carpet, round patches of red blooming across his shirt. A pistol rested loosely in his right hand.

“Papa!” I screamed, reaching out as quiet tides of tears spilled out from my eyes.

They’re taking me to their lair to eat me, my terrified mind repeated over and over.

My body trembled like crockery in an earthquake at the thought of meeting the same fate as Mama. Then the darkness over my eyes lifted, replaced by a flood of blinding white light.

My eyes squinted, then slowly widened as fear melted into wonder.

This is what the outside world looks like?

Fences. Trees. Street lamps. Power lines. Parked cars. Colourful houses. The Danube Tower in the distance.

All confined to just the ink and paper in my colouring books, newspapers, and magazines. 

But now, in person.

I lifted my head toward the sun hanging in the bright blue sky.

Breathtaking. Seeing it for the very first time.

My awe didn’t last long. My head was pushed down, just as my eyes began to sting. 

I kept stealing glances while breathing in the cooling fresh scent of the air, drinking in every detail before my eyes locked reverently onto the coolest object.

My ears paid little attention to the strange radio chatter. Or that nearby, strangely familiar tearful female voice calling, “Maus!”, which then traded hurried words with a man about abduction and divorce.

When the monster noticed me staring, its hand covered my eyes again. 

A small wave of disappointment washed over me.

Those flashing blue lights were even cooler than they looked in that photo from Der Standard.