There really were monsters.

This is a snippet from the in-progress book, Your Brilliant Kid Voice: Remember the way you were born to write. It’s a example of the kid voice at work. Or at play. You decide.

We had an entire cast of characters around the house. Cats. Dogs. Cuddly Bears. Monsters. This is from the household mythology. As told by the kid voice. Enjoy. And be vigilant…there really are monster.

This a true story, so infamous in our family that all you have to do is mention “Mr. Kiley” and everyone knows what you’re talking about. It’s a sad story of a sad man, who liked to be cruel to animals, who was cruel to the wrong one. It goes like this.

With the parade of white cats streaming into the Hickory Street house, you might guess there was something going on. But you probably wouldn’t guess that it was a pipeline from the Cuddly Bear Nation on the Plains of the Ukraine to the monster’s headquarters in Uncle Monk’s basement. Like all high-profile refugees and people in witness protection, they came with back stories and documents. Most people just took the official stories at face value.

I’m not sure what the Monster’s connection was to the Plains of the Ukraine. But every now and then, a Cuddly Bear dignitary would show up. Looking a lot like a cute little cat.

The first one was Cuddly Bear—a great hiding-in-plain-sight pseudonym, right? Her story was that she was born to Elaine, an elegant, all-white cat from over at Coopermill Manor, where they had a strict no-pets policy. Of all the kittens, Cuddly Bear (CB) was the only one who survived.

My mother was working at Coopermill Manor in a homemaker education program. She heard about the Cuddly Bear’s need for a home and called Monk, who agreed to accept the waif, pending Guinevere’s approval (which only made sense, because Guinevere was the head animal). Of course, Guinevere graciously agreed. So, my mom brought CB over to meet the family.

Guinevere adopted her at first sight, which she signaled by rolling over on her back, and swatting her around with her paws. CB’s whole body was smaller than Guinevere’s head, so every swat sent her tumbling, which she seemed to enjoy.

CB was probably a couple of pounds. Mostly fur. And quite athletic. She could jump from the floor to the top of the refrigerator without stopping at the countertop. And she enjoyed playing football. She would sit inches from the television screen and wait for the snap. Stand up on her hind feet and slap the players with her front paws as they ran across the screen.

She could also be serine. Sitting for hours in the back yard. Looking at the sky. Touching the grass. Not even noticing that a mother blue jay was screeching and swooping down at her head. We found out later that she was deaf and only aware of things she could see or smell.

Since CB was pretty naïve and utterly deaf, Guinevere made the executive decision that she would be living indoors. A choice the Cuddly Bear accepted and adapted to.

One day, the authorities at the Coopermill Manor found out about Elaine’s unauthorized residence in the no-pet zone. She was evicted. My mom again arranged for sanctuary at Uncle Monk’s.

Elaine, a little more street savvy than CB, and neither as gracious nor as cute, hissed at Guinevere the first time they met. Guinevere was not prone to grudges. But it hurt her feelings. She permitted Elaine to live under her protection, probably to avoid an international dust-up with Cuddly Bear Nation. But the two of them kept a cool distance from then on.

Outside of Uncle Monk’s yard, the neighborhood was a dangerous place. There was a decommissioned alley just past his back fence. Nobody knew exactly who owned it. It was overgrown with weeds, vines, and saplings. The pavers were broken. You couldn’t drive on it…and shouldn’t walk on it. It didn’t lead anywhere good.

At the other end, the overgrown lane intersected with a gravel-paved alley behind Hedgewood Street. A dead-end street if there ever was one. The Backs lived there. And the Woodyards. And the Kileys.

There were rumors of people who made their living doing unseemly things. Stories of mean things happening to kids. Poisons served to people who liked them for a while…and then needed them…and would eventually do anything for them.

Mr. Kiley bragged about things he liked to do to little animals. His son Kenny bragged about it too, as if it was something to be proud of. We mostly thought they were just boasting. Like how you’d exaggerate about the fish you caught. Or your heroics in some foreign war. But it still creeped me out.

Elaine usually stayed pretty close to home. She’d slip through the back fence to climb one of the trees. Or if some ordinary cat wandered through the yard, she’d chase it. Maybe all the way to the street. But she knew her territory. So, it worried us when she went out one afternoon and didn’t come home by dark.

The next morning, still no Elaine. All the way through the next day, no sign of her. Then, a couple days later, Uncle Monk heard some soft crying out in the vines. He found Elaine. She had wounds that looked like burns. He carried her into the house. Washed her off. Gave her some water and food. Wrapped her in a blanket and took her to Dr. Smith—the only vet in North America approved to treat Cuddly Bears.

Smith examined her. Said he could only speculate about what had happened. But the injuries, both externally and internally, looked like someone had gotten ahold of her and done some things I won’t describe. Just thinking about it twists up my guts inside me. Elaine survived a couple of days. We all tried to make her as comfortable as possible.

Guinevere and CB kept a round-the-clock vigil, making sure she was never alone or afraid. She finally succumbed to her injuries. We buried her near the back fence, where she liked to patrol.

From then on, we took extra precautions to keep the animals inside.

After a while, things were pretty close to normal among the animals. The monster held forth in his basement headquarters. We weren’t allowed down there, because the squeals and giggles of kids irritate monsters. But we got reports from Uncle Monk, Guinevere, and the Cuddly Bear.

The Chief Rabbit was coming for a visit. Fufus was reported to be in town (although, of course, nobody saw him). Jiggs phoned in from time to time, to update everyone on his retirement travels and adventures. And there was a new cat. Someone Dr. Smith knew about.

Maximillion Grazillion. Max for short. She was sleek. And cool. All white, but with a black tail and a black left ear. She liked my dad a lot. She’d follow him around until he sat down, then jump on his lap. He really didn’t like cats. But I think he was flattered that Max liked him so much. Or maybe she was taunting him. And maybe he was not taking the bait. But they put on a show of conviviality.

In spite of the animal travel ban, Max found ways to get out. A ripped screen. A loose board in the back porch. A dryer vent. She was resourceful. And it made sense in retrospect. Turned out that the black tail and black ear were markings specific to high-level operatives from the CBI (Cuddly Bear Investigators). Max was actually J. Edgar Cuddly Bear. On assignment from the Plains of the Ukraine to investigate the murder of Elaine.

She would escape. We would go looking for her. Always found her sniffing around the overgrown lane. Or the gravel alley. Or Mr. Kiley’s garbage cans. We’d give her a scratch behind the ear. She’d go all “cat.” Purr. Roll over on her back. We’d pick her up and carry her home. But nobody was really fooled.

The saddest day in the history of Hickory Street was when someone left a door ajar and Cuddly Bear slipped out. Guinevere alerted us. She carried CB’s water bowl into the living room and doused us all. We returned the bowl to where it belonged and refilled it. She picked it up and threw it. Then, she threw CB’s food dish.

We aren’t as smart as a roomful of Cuddly Bears. But we’re not total dullards. We got the hint. Cuddly Bear was on the lamb. And Guinevere considered it an emergency. First, we searched the house. Then we split up and searched the neighborhood. I took South Grey Street. My brother and Aunt Marion took Hickory Street. My sister and parents took the area between Hickory and our house on Spangler Drive. Uncle Monk took the alleys.

He found her behind Mr. Kiley’s house. Shot with either a .22 or a pellet gun from short range. There was nothing we could do to save her. We buried her under the Locust tree, where she had enjoyed ignoring the blue jays. She was one day short of her first birthday.

There were tears from here to Kiev. There was an eerie quiet around the house for a couple weeks. But behind the scenes a storm was brewing.

Jiggs cut his Madagascar vacation short and made his way to Hickory Street. The monster called in Fufus. He’d be useful in clandestine operations, since he was invisible. The Monster Doctor was there, in case someone needed a Don’t-Be-Sad pill. Guinevere was there as the voice of reason. Max was there as the voice of who-needs-reason. And Smith was there as the lone human representative.

They convened in the basement headquarters, on a conference call with the Cuddly Bear Council. There was crying. Gnashing of teeth. Also a lot of scheming. Planning. Strategizing. Plan A. Plan B. All the plans.

Then, Chuck arrived. His cover was another version of “some people Smith knew, who had a farm.” A muscular, all-black cat. With piercing yellow-green eyes. He was intense. But also sweet when he smiled. Which was only when he wanted you to think he was sweet. We were never exactly sure who he was. But there’s only a handful of black Cuddly Bears in the world. And you don’t want to be on the wrong side of one.

For most of the summer, things were tense. Max and Chuck would “escape” together. Always together. They’d be gone for a few hours. Come back to the house. Head to the basement to report in.

Once, when I was heading over to Cuddy Dixon Park to play basketball, I glanced down the gravel alley. I coulda sworn I saw Max and Chuck side-by-side on garbage cans, staking out Mr. Kiley’s back porch. I knew the best thing for me to do was go work on my free throws. But I’m pretty sure of what I saw.

Eventually, Jiggs headed off to Morocco. Fufus disappeared again. The monster doctor left for Transylvania.

Guinevere and Max formed a truce. They both started sleeping through the night. The cats started acting like cats. And coming and going as if there was nothing wrong. The neighborhood went almost back to normal.

By and by, we heard an ambulance screaming down Hedgewood. It was for Mr. Kiley. The story was that he’d missed his rent payment. The landlord came to collect. There was no answer at the door. He let himself in. Poked around. Found Mr. Kiley on the basement floor.

Word was that he’d had a stroke while he was down there doing some evil thing. Couldn’t get upstairs. Couldn’t call for help. So that was the end for Mr. Kiley.

I’ve tried to piece details together. I found out that the ambulance guys figured Mr. Kiley had been down there for a while. Maybe dating back to the day I saw Max and Chuck investigating the house.

It was declared a stroke, because it looked like one—if you didn’t look too close. And since nobody was interested in looking too close, “stroke” it was.

As Mark Antony said, “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.” It’s been decades since the murder of Elaine and the Cuddly Bear. That was pretty evil. The infamy lives on in our memories. Mr. Kiley must have done some good, although I’ve never found anyone who would testify to it. So, whatever it was, it’s interred with his bones by now.

I have a few questions for you. Give them some thought. Don’t answer too quickly.

Was there really a snarly little black and brown spaniel named Jiggs? Did he start a world war? Did he retire to a tour of places with exotic names?

Was there really an eighteen-foot-tall, green-scaly monster in Uncle Monk’s basement? Did he really have an invisible friend named after a typo?

Was Guinevere really as observant, discerning, and intuitive as I’ve described?

Is there really a Cuddly Bear Nation on the Plains of the Ukraine? Or were Cuddly Bear, Elaine, Max, and Chuck just cats? Just regular old cats?

Is there a Hercules? A Batman? A Galahad? A Beowulf?

We could have a lot of fun untangling that Gordian knot. Like, if there was no Beowulf, then who slayed Grindle? Who slayed Grindle’s mother? You decide on those things.

But if you know the story of Mr. Kiley, you must agree…

There really are monsters.