Part Three
“See? The monsters aren’t real, Pan. If you don’t believe in them, they can’t hurt you.”
August hoped he was right. The fluffy seemed to be battling some kind of demons, and he couldn’t afford to take him to a psychologist. Hell, he didn’t even know if there were psychologists for fluffies. This was the only way he knew he could help.
Nu am weaw! Nu am weaw! Mr. Laughy nu am weaw! Pan nu be scawed! Nu am weaw! The thoughts didn’t help, not at all. They rang hollow, artificial, because deep down he knew that it wasn’t a nightmare. It couldn’t be! It felt too real!
Pan lay in his nest, trying to fall asleep again. It was useless, as usual. He felt the creeping dread coming once again, and heard the soft sound of giggling. Mr Laughy was real, and Pan knew he’d be angry about last night. He knew the monster didn’t want his prey hiding.
“Paaaaan. Yoooou fucked uuuuup!”
He shook, only the tiniest bit from the inbuilt aversion to meanie words. No, what ate at his soul was the change in Mr. Laughy’s voice. It didn’t sound happy. It sounded angry. The giggling had a sharp edge to it, and at times Pan could swear it turned into a growl.
Pan am sowwy! he thought. Wiww nebah wun way 'gain!
He tried to cry out, tried to plead, but this time Mr. Laughy’s grip was too tight. He gasped frantically for breath, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. Mr. Laughy was going to kill him tonight. He knew it. He’d made the monster too angry.
“I’m goooonna get yooooou!” Mr. Laughy howled, the sound louder than anything Pan had ever heard. “You’re gooonna fuuuucking diiiie, shitrat!”
Pwease nu! Pwease nu! Pwease nu!
Mr. Laughy moved closer. Not his normal skulking creep, but a rapid, erratic walk. Pan’s breath grew more and more shallow as he approached. He stopped and stooped over Pan, eyes two holes into shining red oblivion. His rasping breath even more foul than ever before.
Pan stopped shaking and resigned himself to his fate. It was all over now. There was nothing he could do. He closed his eyes tight and prepared to see his mummah again. Truth be told, after this nightly horror he was ready for it to be over with. He was ready for Skettiland.
Suddenly, there was a low humming sound Pan had never heard before. The warm, early-summer air began to move with a cold wind. The air conditioner had turned on, although he had no idea what it was. All he knew was the cold air, devoid of Mr. Laughy’s stench, was so wonderful.
A few seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two. He opened his eyes, not understanding what was going on, and saw Mr. Laughy standing there, glaring upwards, shaking with hatred and…cold? Mr. Laughy was scared of the cold? But…that didn’t make sense. Why would a monster be afraid of the cold?
“Yooooou got luckyyyyy, this tiiiime,” Mr. Laughy hissed, turning back to Pan. “Neeeeext time, I’m going to kiiiill you. Youuuu WILL be mine!”
Pan grew bolder at the sight of the monster’s weakness, and the grip on his chest lightened. “Pan nu am scawed of 'ou nu mowe! Dummeh monstew scawed of cowd!”
“Noooot afraid? Leeeeet’s see about thaaaaat,” Mr. Laughy spat, voice full of hatred and rage. Then he ripped his face off.
Pan shrieked, the horror he felt worse than anything he’d ever felt before. Underneath, Mr. Laughy’s face was daddeh’s.
Part Five (End)