Dear Mr. Monster,
You’ve been living under my bed for a week now, and I was hoping to write you this letter in order to ask you why. I’m leaving it by the bed so you’ll get it tonight when you peek out, like you do now and then. I see you peeking out sometimes, with your wide, green, eyes and your shadowy skin, but you don’t really look like a Monster to me. You’re kind of cute, in a monster-y sort of way.
You don’t have claws, and I’ve never seen any fangs, so I don’t know why I call you Mr. Monster, but that seemed the best idea at the time. Maybe one of these days we’ll have a proper conversation, and I can find out your real name. I think I would like that, one of these days, when I’m not worried some of the other Monsters under my bed might fight their way out past you.
I don’t think you’d hurt me, but I don’t know about those other Monsters down there. They might not be so nice. They might be real Monsters. No wide green eyes, but slitted red ones, long claws and sharp fangs. I wouldn’t want to know their names, or learn about why they’re down there. I can guess.
Thank you for keeping an eye on me. I might not act like it, but I appreciate when you find the socks I lose down there, or push my slippers out for me in the morning. Thank you for not letting me get dragged under there by any of the others. And thank you for hiding when Aunty comes to see if there are monsters under the bed… I wouldn’t want her to get dragged down there either, or drag you out.
Thanks, Mr. Monster, for living down there. You can stay, if you want, I won’t complain. Just tell the rest of them to behave.