Lily's Storytime

20251101

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "First Indulgence" event.

“…The End.” Lily paused, breath held and hands ready to fly to her ears. But, to her great relief, the screeching did not resume.
Alright. Time for the real test.
Slowly, softly, she placed one bare, vulnerable foot on the floor. And winced as she immediately felt a cold, scaly hand grip her ankle.
“You’re still not asleep?”
A grumble - half plaintive, half threatening - slithered from under the bed.
Lily sighed. “Fine. One more story.”
The hand did not release her. Not until she turned the page and began “Once upon a time…”. And even then, while it loosened, it did not withdraw. Ready to grab again if she tried to escape.
Where was she? This wasn’t her room, Lily was certain of it. It looked like hers, but it wasn’t. She’d never seen any of these storybooks before. The light from the bedside lamp hit the ceiling all wrong. Her stuffed toys, defenders against monsters and nightmares, were missing. And there was a musty, sour, lonely smell underpinning the room.
A scent which stirred distant, buried memories of visiting granddad, back when he lived alone in a little flat and hadn’t finished forgetting how to remember people. She’d never liked those visits. They meant being stuck in the car for hours and then being bored in a grubby flat which had no toys and only dull books. And this smell wasn’t the same. But… the two felt related. Like her and granddad.
This had to be a dream. A nightmare, rather. But no matter how many times Lily pinched herself she couldn’t wake up.
If she could only get out of bed… if she could somehow make it to mum and dad’s room… that was, after all, the best cure for nightmares; sleeping in mum and dad’s bed. She was sure that would fix everything.
“…and they lived happily ever after. The End.”
Lily paused and listened.
The wheezing breath under the bed was steady and peaceful.
Slowly, softly, she put her second foot on the floor.
With a snuffling grumble both ankles were seized by cold, scaly hands. And then a third hand tapped her knee with a sharp, splitty nail.
“P-please.” Lily had given up trying to sound brave. “I’ve read you three whole books! I, I need to go home. I have school tomorrow.”
Silence. Heavy, and pained.
Then a whisper her ears barely caught, in a language she couldn’t understand, which twisted her heart with sorrow.
And then, with stiff reluctance, the fingers peeled away from her skin and slid back under the bed.
Lily quickly stood and took a few steps. Hopefully out of reach. Then she turned and crouched down. Not quite peering at where the arms had been.
It was too dark to see anything anyway.
“Are, um… can you not read?”
A whimper. Sad? Ashamed?
“Did you not go to school?”
Silence.
“I suppose you can’t, if you’re stuck under a bed. Um.” Lily put down the book, open to the last page she’d read, and pushed it as close as she dared. “Here. I’ll leave the light on, so you can look at the pictures. It’s… they don’t tell the whole story, but…”
While she couldn’t see eyes, or anything at all in the gloom beneath, she felt certain it was looking at her.
A hand crawled across the floor and dragged the book a little closer.
There was a soft, forlorn sigh.
“I’m sorry. I do have to go.” Lily hesitated, aware this was the sort of thing all the tales she’d just read said you shouldn’t do, then promised “If I come again, I’ll read you more stories, ok?”
Beneath the bed, for just a moment, she saw a pair of big, round eyes flash yellow. Just for a moment. And the thing gave a firm grunt of acceptance.
“O-okay. Goodbye. Um. Thank you for having me?”
This time the grumble was… not content, but accepting.
Lily straightened up and scampered to the door. It opened with a creak that wasn’t like hers, to a hallway which felt far longer than it should be. Even with the length and the gloom she could see a door which should lead to something like mum and dad’s room.
Please let it be so… please let her wake up in her own bed, or theirs, or even Ben’s crib, she didn’t care anymore!
Floorboards shifted and complained as she hurried down the hall to try the door. Unlocked. And, with what little light filtered through from the first room, she could see a big bed. Very almost like mum and dad’s.
Lily took a running jump onto it, and sighed with relief to find it empty.
Ok. Just had to get to sleep.
She hoped.
So she crawled to the head and snuggled down under the musty comforter. Right in the middle, away from any edges. And closed her eyes and started imagining fruit. That was the trick dad had taught her, and it usually worked.
In the midst of trying to remember how many colours of grapes there were, a bristly, spongy hand caressed her hair.
Lily froze.
A deflated voice whispered “Can… I… have… a story?”
Lily screwed her eyes up tight and swallowed hard. Then she wriggled away from the eerie touch and reached a shaky hand to turn on the side light.
Yes, there was a pile of storybooks. Just like last time.
She took a deep breath and tried to sound like mum, though mum’s voice never wavered like hers was right now. “You can have one. And then I need to go.”
“Alright.” A host of voices whispered.
From under the bed. From the closet. From inside the overhead lampshade. From all around.
Lily picked up the first book and opened it to the first story. It took a few tries before she managed to get out “Once upon a time…”

Prompt was “Write a story inspired by the image below. Your submission must begin with the words "The End”.”