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Entry tags:
Supernatural - Monster in the Closet
Title: Monster in the Closet
Summary: Most experts agree that using fake "monster spray" or "monster dust" isn't the best strategy for dealing with kids' concerns. 'It'll just feed your child's fear. After all, if you need the spray, it must mean that monsters are real.'" - Parents Magazine G, 700 words
"Dad! Dad! There's a monster in the closet!"
John woke up to Sam's shouts at 2:26 am. Six and a half years of hunting reminded him, before his feet even hit the floor, the hours between one and three in the morning are prime for supernatural activity.
Still, he'd done a real thorough check on the house they were staying at; the boys' closet was probably full of nothing but clothes and a book or two.
John grabbed the forty-five off of the nightstand anyway, and picked up the hunting knife from the dresser as he followed Sam back to the bedroom.
When they got to the doorway, Dean was blearly climbing out of bed, mumbling something about Sammy and nightmares in sleepy discontent. John waved him back into bed and he went, trusting his father to make things right.
John didn't bother with the lights -- he hadn't been able to afford the place and electricity this time. The closet door was white and innocuous, nothing so much as an ominous creak to suggest that it concealed anything more frightening than the usual detritus of two messy young boys. It felt ordinary. John put his hand on the doorknob -- plating worn through in patches, but still serviceable -- and he didn't feel the prickling along his spine that he usually got in the presence of something unnatural.
He'd been real thorough checking up on this place. And Sam had to learn to face his fears sometime.
John set the knife down next to the closet, and went back to where his son was standing in the middle of the room, next to the bed. Sam stared at the closet door as though it was about to fly off its hinges. His sleep-tousled hair caught the yellow light from the streetlight outside, soft, scared, and haphazard.
Gently, John reached out and took Sam's hand in his. With his other, he held up the gun.
"You see this gun, Sam? It's a forty-five loaded with silver-plated bullets. If there's a monster in your closet, this'll stop it, okay?"
Sam nodded, looking slightly reassured. John made sure the safety was on, and pressed it into Sam's hands, wrapped his arms around Sam and showed him how to hold it, even though Sam's hands were almost too small to reach the trigger. He crouched down and peered over Sam's shoulder, looking down the sights.
"You've got a good steady hand there, son." Well, for a kid barely big enough to hold a gun, anyway. "Now let's get rid of this monster."
When they got to the closet Sam was back to being afraid, gun notwithstanding, and John could feel him trembling a little, could see his white-knuckled grip on the gun.
"Hey." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, meant to be reassuring, and when his son stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes, John said, "I'm here, okay? Got my knife right here -- I've got your back, Sam."
He crouched behind Sam, used one hand to flick off the safety and steady Sam's aim, and the other to pull the closet door open.
Sam gasped but didn't shoot, and John was impressed at how steady his boy could be. As he'd expected, the closet was completely monster-free. Sam took a good look around the built-in shelves and relaxed, let the muzzle of the gun droop.
John watched as his son -- cautious but no longer scared -- put the safety back on and handed the gun back. Warm pride surged up in his chest, and he let Sam see his smile when he looked up for approval.
"Atta boy, Sam."
Summary: Most experts agree that using fake "monster spray" or "monster dust" isn't the best strategy for dealing with kids' concerns. 'It'll just feed your child's fear. After all, if you need the spray, it must mean that monsters are real.'" - Parents Magazine G, 700 words
"Dad! Dad! There's a monster in the closet!"
John woke up to Sam's shouts at 2:26 am. Six and a half years of hunting reminded him, before his feet even hit the floor, the hours between one and three in the morning are prime for supernatural activity.
Still, he'd done a real thorough check on the house they were staying at; the boys' closet was probably full of nothing but clothes and a book or two.
John grabbed the forty-five off of the nightstand anyway, and picked up the hunting knife from the dresser as he followed Sam back to the bedroom.
When they got to the doorway, Dean was blearly climbing out of bed, mumbling something about Sammy and nightmares in sleepy discontent. John waved him back into bed and he went, trusting his father to make things right.
John didn't bother with the lights -- he hadn't been able to afford the place and electricity this time. The closet door was white and innocuous, nothing so much as an ominous creak to suggest that it concealed anything more frightening than the usual detritus of two messy young boys. It felt ordinary. John put his hand on the doorknob -- plating worn through in patches, but still serviceable -- and he didn't feel the prickling along his spine that he usually got in the presence of something unnatural.
He'd been real thorough checking up on this place. And Sam had to learn to face his fears sometime.
John set the knife down next to the closet, and went back to where his son was standing in the middle of the room, next to the bed. Sam stared at the closet door as though it was about to fly off its hinges. His sleep-tousled hair caught the yellow light from the streetlight outside, soft, scared, and haphazard.
Gently, John reached out and took Sam's hand in his. With his other, he held up the gun.
"You see this gun, Sam? It's a forty-five loaded with silver-plated bullets. If there's a monster in your closet, this'll stop it, okay?"
Sam nodded, looking slightly reassured. John made sure the safety was on, and pressed it into Sam's hands, wrapped his arms around Sam and showed him how to hold it, even though Sam's hands were almost too small to reach the trigger. He crouched down and peered over Sam's shoulder, looking down the sights.
"You've got a good steady hand there, son." Well, for a kid barely big enough to hold a gun, anyway. "Now let's get rid of this monster."
When they got to the closet Sam was back to being afraid, gun notwithstanding, and John could feel him trembling a little, could see his white-knuckled grip on the gun.
"Hey." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, meant to be reassuring, and when his son stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes, John said, "I'm here, okay? Got my knife right here -- I've got your back, Sam."
He crouched behind Sam, used one hand to flick off the safety and steady Sam's aim, and the other to pull the closet door open.
Sam gasped but didn't shoot, and John was impressed at how steady his boy could be. As he'd expected, the closet was completely monster-free. Sam took a good look around the built-in shelves and relaxed, let the muzzle of the gun droop.
John watched as his son -- cautious but no longer scared -- put the safety back on and handed the gun back. Warm pride surged up in his chest, and he let Sam see his smile when he looked up for approval.
"Atta boy, Sam."