The Payphone Part 2

(The Payphone part one is here: https://lisaapaul.home.blog/2025/08/11/the-payphone/ )

When Connie was five years old, and she had been tormented by the monster a couple of nights a week for a few weeks her parents noticed their daughter was not doing well. Her eyes had shadows under them, she picked at her food and she never wanted to go to her room, especially at bedtime. They tried to talk to her, but when asked what was wrong, Connie always replied, “Nothing. You don’t believe me, but it’s the monster.” They began the search to find a therapist, wondering if there was something seriously wrong with their little girl.

Connie had decided she would fight the monster. Somehow she had to outsmart it. She suspected it was not a genius. She had an idea, and she brought a large book of fairy tales to her mother one morning, opening the book on the dining room table to the story of the three little pigs. Her mother came over and asked if Connie wanted her to read some stories. Connie said no, but she did have a favor to ask. Encouraged that she could do something for her child, her mother quickly said yes.

Connie pointed to an empty spot on the page that contained the three little pigs looking out of their brick house at the big, bad wolf who was approaching to try to blow their house down. “I want you to draw a picture of me here,” she said, with her finger planted in the exact spot she wanted. “And I want you to draw a picture of the monster,” her mother started to protest, but Connie put up her hand and stopped her, “I want the picture of the monster to be right here,” she moved her finger to a spot right next to the first spot.

“Why would you want this, Connie?” she asked. “This can’t be healthy for you. Is that all you think about – that monster? Anyway, you know I don’t know what the monster looks like. How could I draw it?”

Connie knew her mother could draw anything, she had a gift. “Because I will describe it to you, Mommy,” she said and gave her mother a hug that melted her heart. She held her daughter close, wishing she could make everything alright. Connie knew her mother could not refuse her. “This is going to help, you’ll see,” she added. Her mother agreed.

When the book was ready, Connie put on the finishing touches and took it to bed with her along with a thick roll of duct tape she had taken from the garage. She opened the book to the page with the drawings and placed it on her bed between her and her closet. She examined the page, hoping with all of her five and a half year old’s heart that this would work. She had told her mother to draw her with one arm up, and later Connie had drawn a large knife in that hand. Connie had taken a knife from the kitchen and carefully poked the end of her finger with it, careful to place the drops of blood precisely. One drop on the knife, two drops on the monster. She smiled at her creation. It looked like she had stabbed the monster and it was bleeding. That ought to make it mad, she thought. She only hoped the monster would get mad enough to try to change what happened in the book. She knew it was going to be terrifying for her to lay still to see if her plan would work. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed hard.

She had almost fallen asleep when she heard the closet door open. She came fully awake, but pretended to sleep. She had left her lamp on, and the light spilled over the book. She could hear the monster come close and felt it’s presence leaning over her bed. She smelled the rank odor of it and then heard an agitated squeal. “You did not, Connie mohonnie, my treat. I’m gonna eat you up because you did not hurt me,” it said in its quiet, high pitched sing song voice, and then she heard another squeal, quiet but angry. She cracked one eye open to see the monster was leaning over the book, pawing at the page, and then it began to shrink. It got smaller until it was on the page and then it was in the page. It was standing next to the monster her mother had drawn, trying to shake the drawn monster to make sure it was alright, squealing in anger but it was so tiny now its screams sounded like a mouse instead of a monster.

Quickly, Connie slammed the book shut and began pulling duct tape off and wrapping it around the book. She wrapped as quickly as she could, but the tape was thick and sticky and it was harder than she had anticipated. The book began to move in her hands and shot off across the bed. She jumped on it, and put one of her knees on top of it. She kept wrapping, and it kept struggling, but finally she had the entire book wrapped with the tape. Not a single spot of the original book was showing. The book jumped out of her hands and fell to the floor, skittering across her room and coming to a stop in front of her closet. Slowly, she got out of bed, and kicked the book to the other side of her room. It sat still on the floor. She grabbed the book and threw it into her large wooden toy box, shutting the lid and trapping it inside.

After this, her nights were slowly transformed. They became things of moonlight and dreams and rest. Her parents thought whatever her mother had done to her book had somehow broken the spell of the monster on Connie and they were very happy and relieved. Every now and then, if one of her parents were in her room with her, Connie would raise the lid on her toy box and look inside, checking to be sure the book was still there and was still covered on all sides with tape. The book was always in the same place, so she decided it didn’t move anymore. Eventually, the horror of the monster in her memories began to fade and slowly the toys in the toy box were discarded, a few at time as she grew up. But she couldn’t bring herself to touch or discard the taped-up book. Just looking at it made her heart race and her hands shake and she always just slammed the lid on it. Eventually, the toy box just became what she sat her back pack on, or her stereo or her books. And eventually, Connie moved away and forgot all about the toy box and the monster.

But, apparently, the monster never forgot about her.

Copyright ©2025 Lisa Paul