There all kinds of monsters that can lurk in a kid’s room. There are stellas, which come out at night and blink a curious butt-light sixty times a second and are only dangerous if your kid has epilepsy. They’re more prevalent in rooms with shielded overhead lights, since they can hang out there during the day. There are also closet monsters, like the wide-eyed, mosquito-nosed lanky asfalyan, which come out at precisely 3:31 AM to ask if you want to purchase life insurance. The under-the-bed variety tend to be the most harmful, with the lapicoup being the most well known. A rapid adult lapicoup will kick your mattress so hard that it can hit the ceiling and turn you into strawberry jam. Literal strawberry jam, actually. The kicks are magic.
My wise mother always told me to beware of monsters under the bed. I don’t think Borys is what she had in mind.
I’m pretty sure I’ve made the bum cryptid discovery of the decade with Borys. I’ve never read about anything like him, but he’s about as interesting as a doorknob. He’s got a long, fuzzy body that retains its shape about as well as a cat’s, a hairless tail, nubby legs with disproportionately large claws, and no eyes. His mouth is all molars and his flat little nose is whiskerless.
The fact that Borys manages to survive on his own is utterly perplexing. Those huge, menacing claws? Completely dull. I left a bag of popcorn out one night when I was completely tanked. When I woke up, Borys was inside the bag and couldn’t escape. He couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag. I’ve never seen Borys venture outside but I imagine your ordinary everyday hawk, snake, or deer would make a quick meal out of him. Luckily for Borys, he never ventures outside my room.
But, there’s something weird about that, because my room has changed twice now. To two different houses. In two different states. And Borys has always come with me, even though I intentionally left him behind both times.
The first time I moved, I lost track of him while packing. I figured he sneaked into a box when I wasn’t looking, then sneaked back out when we unpacked. I was surprised to come to my room after dinner to find Borys sitting squarely on the middle of my rug, chomping away on a saltine.
When we moved for the second time it was to an apartment that was rather strict on the “no pets” rule. When we left, I put Borys in a cage, tacked a note to it that said, “Don’t mind me – I’m harmless,” and merrily went on my way packing. When I finished unpacking, I had dinner, then… Well, someone was chomping on a saltine. A little someone who always goes missing when the landlord stops by.
I don’t know what mysterious pocket dimension Borys actually inhabits, but I sure as hell know we don’t buy saltines.