An Adapted Story to a 4 Year Old
By Ron Rowlett
Dedicated to Michael C. Kordell
Love ya, bro
I remember a story my brother, Michael, told me when I was 4. Of course, to a normal person, this would be a silly story. But really, are we normal? What is the basis of normal? As you read this, try and remember when you were a kid, try and read this as a kid, and experience the awe and fear as I had years ago.
By Ron Rowlett
Dedicated to Michael C. Kordell
Love ya, bro
I remember a story my brother, Michael, told me when I was 4. Of course, to a normal person, this would be a silly story. But really, are we normal? What is the basis of normal? As you read this, try and remember when you were a kid, try and read this as a kid, and experience the awe and fear as I had years ago.
A boy, no older than you, was discovered missing from his very own bedroom on a night, a night very much like this one. He slept in the same room as his older brother, and yet how he went missing is unknown. Nobody would know..nobody could know. Only the child's DNA was found on the walls, on the door handles, as what the police said was an almost stumbling run. As if he was running for his life.
The boy had just laid down to bed, already hearing his older brother's snores above him on the bunk bed. How desperately he wanted the television, his fear of the dark..no, his fear of things that hide in the dark, probing his eyes. Dark shapes and spirals poked at his vision, and as monsters swam around in the air, the closet door slowly creaked outward, a disgusting hand slithering out and gripping the door. The boy looked away as the greasy, knotted hair came into vision. He had seen the face dozens of times before, and to see it again meant him screaming and angering his brother again.
But what did scream, no, a roar, was something that appeared to have crashed inside the room, the north wall torn down, was what seemed to be a leathery, though strangely, robotic figure. No, not a figure, a dragon. His older brother's favorite animal. He held in a gasp, which slowly turned into a scream, as the dragon brought it's head down and in a quick swipe, halved many of the monsters. Blood flowed from the dragon's mouth, and the little boy couldn't hold it in anymore. He started screaming, tears flowing, as he kicked and punched the mattress above him to wake up his brother.
But what looked down from the mattress above him was not his brother, but instead a face of rotting flesh, and the putrid smell of singed hair spread across the room. The little boy couldn't take it anymore. He jumped from the bed, a hand grabbing his leg from under the bed, but only tore away, an arm following him as he ran, his bed clothes torn from him as monsters took swipes and the dragon biting him, leaving bite marks.
10 years later, an old farmer discovered the bones of a little boy in the woods, a tree branch caught to the leg of his tattered and torn pajamas, the body curled up in the position of pure terror.
My brother told me this story as a way to get me to fall asleep. My brother is twisted. Anyway, happy 26th, bro.
