A horror story, as written by a three-year old.
Happy (belated) Halloween!
There’s a really, really, really scary monster in my room when my mommy and daddy turn the lights off.
I make my mommy and daddy look for it but they don’t find it. First my daddy–he’s really, really, really strong,–lifts up the whole bed with me in it and looks under the bed. Then my mommy–she’s really, really, reeeaally smart–shines a flashlight in all the corners and yells boo at the shadows so they know she’s the boss.
When we all say good night, the monster sits on top of my toy box. I tried yelling, “Go away, monster!” as loud as I could but it woke my mommy and daddy up and the monster didn’t listen anyway. Monsters are bad. They don’t listen to anybody, not even mommy or daddy.
One night, I heard a really loud crash from the kitchen. I thought it was the monster but it was just one of my cats. The cat came racing up the stairs. My daddy says sometimes that the cat has a rocket up his butt, so I think the crash was him putting it in.
The cat ran into my room, got really, really, reeaally pointy and stopped. He looked at the monster and the monster looked at the cat and the cat wiggled his bum and jumped at the monster and ate him so now there’s no monster anymore.