When I turned thirteen, I was assigned my human child, like every other monster in my world. But none the less, I was scared out of my fur. What if the child never learned to fear me? What if they matured early and I never got them scared enough to complete my job? Or what if they just (dare I think it) sleep through my visits? I voiced some of these thoughts to my mother, and she quickly dismissed them. This child would learn to fear me. I had to remember this.
But when I received the folder with my assigned child, I was worried and shocked to see how small the information in the packet was. There were two pages, one telling me her vitals. Her name was Penny Rockfield. She was (of course) three years old, and her mother and father were married and happy. I flip to her fears and her joys. She liked dogs, cats, any food she could get her little hands on. The list went on and on, taking up the entire front of the second page. I was still scanning the front when I fl