MR.BONGO

by Byron Dunbar

Matt knew there was something wrong with the house. He knew it the moment 
his parents showed him a photograph of their new home. It was just an uneasy 
feeling then, that almost didn't exist. The reality only dawned the day they 
drove up to their new dwelling place. His parents stood proudly behind the 
wheel of their car, briefly admiring the house from the curb before rushing 
inside. Matt's eyes were drawn to an upstairs window, a window that in a 
few moments more he would discover belonged to his bedroom. He looked up and 
saw Mr. Bongo for the first time.
Matt was very experienced at recognizing monsters. There were monsters in 
every house they ever lived in. His father had a good job, so he said, 
earning a lot of money, but the down side of that was every year or two they 
had to move into a new house, in a new city. That wasn't the worst of it. 
Every house had its own monsters. They were all scary, but Matt knew Mr. 
Bongo was going to be the worst one yet. Why? Mr. Bongo was in no hurry to 
show his face. He only ever saw his eyes. That would be all that he would 
see for quite a while.
In other ways, he was like every monster. They only came out at night, and 
tended to live in his bedroom closet. So it was again. The very first 
evening, he was confronted by Mr. Bongo's glaring eyes. They burned into 
him, two pale, moss covered pupils declaring an insane hunger. Matt knew it 
didn't hunger for his flesh like Floop, the monster who lived under his bed 
back in his old house. Mr. Bongo wanted something more. Matt was never sure 
what it was, but feared it might somehow be worse.
Matt never told his parents about Mr. Bongo. They never believed him when he 
warned them about the other monsters, and certainly wouldn't care to hear 
about Mr. Bongo. When Matt told them about Whimps, the monster who made the 
creaking sounds in the attic of their second last house, they just laughed 
and gave him a night light. The night light actually worked on the monsters 
in that house. It kept them away. He tried to use it on Mr. Bongo the same 
way, but it didn't work. In fact, Matt got rid of the night light soon 
after meeting Mr. Bongo. It was too disturbing to have a light on when it 
did nothing to prevent Mr. Bongo from creeping out of the closet every 
night. Light only made it worse. Matt cringed at the sight of the huge, 
slimy squealing rats crawling all over Mr. Bongo, at odds with his gloves, 
suit and tie. He was a strangely well dressed monster but his evil eyes 
always betrayed his true character. It wasn't unusual to see Mr. Bongo's 
gloved hands stroke the rats, but not always gently. Once, one of the tiny 
creatures tried to warn him not to accept any of Mr. Bongo's treats. It was 
the first time Mr. Bongo spoke to him.
It was a sibilant whisper, coaxing, almost friendly as it offered him a 
treat. Matt wasn't about to accept. He was too astonished by the 
impossibility of a rat knowing how to speak. Before the creature quite 
squeaked out its warning, Mr. Bongo smugly slipped the rat into his pocket 
mid sentence. Matt heard it squeal woefully as it was stuffed into 
captivity. A moment later, Mr. Bongo withdrew, but not before promising to 
bring Matt a better surprise the next day.
That was hardly something to wait on with anticipation. The monsters in his 
old closet never spoke to him. They waited until Matt fell asleep before 
venturing forward, intending to suck the marrow from his bones. Matt was 
always able to stop them. Waking up chased them away. He never saw the old 
monsters, only knew that they had been there. Mr. Bongo couldn't be scared 
off. Every night now he heard him say "Come into my closet little friend, 
we have beautiful toys and cakes! You know you want to."

* * *

"Go to bed!" screamed Matt's father.
"But Daddy, Mr. Bongo will be up there. He'll show me some candy or a movie 
and try to get me! Please Daddy, it's getting harder to resist him every 
night! He's won't give up."
"Matt, your obsession with monsters is driving me crazy! It's those stupid 
horror comics you always read! Those vile things make you go around thinking 
there's a monster everywhere! If it weren't for your mother, I'd have burned 
them all to ash by now! And another thing..."
Matt sighed; his father was giving another anti-horror speech again. Matt 
listened for a moment. It was nearly time for the part where he'd be called 
a future homicidal maniac. But that never came. The basketball game his 
father had been waiting for was now on, and he turned to enjoy it. Matt 
hated sports. He never could understand why people made such a fuss over 
something so pointless when there were more important matters at hand. Like 
the growing threat of monsters.
Matt turned upstairs to get ready for bed. As he went up his father 
swallowed a large gulp of beer and hollered, "Don't forget to brush your 
teeth."
"I won't," said Matt.
After two or three steps Matt looked at the stairs and wondered about the 
creaking. In an earlier house, Lady Goongala made such creaks. As he hovered 
over the stairs he remembered her long, yellow teeth, painted like candy 
canes with the blood of past children who climbed these cursed stairs. Each 
creak was the munching of her jaws over the bones of innocent victims. Matt 
shuddered and ran the rest of the way up the stairs.
Matt saw the door to the bathroom at the end of the hall, a few feet from 
the door to his bedroom. He had to go, but the bathroom seemed a mile away. 
Matt took a step forward when he heard a creak coming from behind his door. 
A second ago it was closed. It was now open a crack. It provided just enough 
room for the rat that scurried out to face him.
"Don't listen to him", said the rat.
It spoke in a tone that reminded him of the characters in his favorite 
cartoon, Alvin and the Chipmunks.
"He told me there'd be a doll house, Matt. There wasn't. He doesn't keep 
any of his promises. He's a liar. Don't trust him." The rat didn't have time 
to finish. The door opened wider and forward came the hand of Mr. Bongo, 
covered by a Mickey Mouse glove as he clutched the rat and pulled it back 
into Matt's bedroom. The rodent's cry was cut short by the clicking of the 
door. Then, Mr. Bongo's eye slowly materialized in the keyhole of Matt's 
door. It stared at him. Matt bolted into the bathroom, knowing Mr. Bongo's 
eyes never left him until he slammed the door shut.
Matt knew he couldn't stay in the bathroom all night, but an hour went by 
before he dared open the door to his bedroom. He switched on the light. 
Nothing was there. He changed into pajamas and turned on the lamp by his 
bed. He got under his covers and went to the end of his bed to turn off the 
overhead light. Then he crawled back to his bedside table and turned off his 
lamp. He was safely under his covers. After a minute or two, the door to his 
closet crept open ever so slightly. Mr. Bongo kept his eyes on Matt all 
night, but never said a word. Matt didn't remember falling asleep at all 
that night.
School wasn't too rough the next day. Matt only had one small test in 
spelling and received no homework. Matt had always been very good at 
spelling. He learned many of the list words before anyone else in his class. 
Matt had a dream of being a comic book writer and artist but had doubts 
whether he would succeed. It wasn't that he didn't do well in Art class; he 
knew that he drew fairly well. But he couldn't draw for very long. When he 
did, his pictures gradually became less and less convincing. And even if he 
could draw for longer periods of time, he knew that there were countless 
better artists than him.
Artists like Nancy. Matt had several friends but she was the most artistic. 
Her art was like something out of one of the art books his mother read. In 
a few years, Matt was sure her work would be perfect as photography. He 
never understood why she didn't want to become an artist. She said it was 
only a hobby, that she had different dreams. Matt had mixed feelings when he 
heard her say this. He was frustrated that she would let her talent go to 
waste, but he was also relieved that she wouldn't offer competition when he 
followed his dreams. Matt also felt a trifle angry. He wondered why she 
should have so much talent and not utilize it, when he had the courage to 
follow his dreams but was less gifted. His anger returned to puzzlement 
when she confessed her dream to be an actress.
Matt praised her performances though deep down, he knew that she wasn't any 
good. He even defended her when bullies mocked her ability. All it got him 
was a bloody nose and black eye. He thought sometimes of telling her that 
her dreams could never come true, but it would only make him lose a friend. 
Friends were the only thing that made him feel normal. Nothing at home did.
"Buying the new Dog and Cat video, Matt?" she asked as they walked home that 
afternoon.
"Is it out?"
"Yep. You loved it, didn't you?"
"I sure did. I hope I can get it."
"Those new releases cost way too much!" answered Matt's father when
asked about it later that evening.
"But daddy, you buy movies for yourself all the time. I'll help pay for it. 
"
"Don't give me any back chat!" roared Matt's father. "Go to bed!"
"But it's not time yet."
"This will teach you a good lesson," retorted Matt's father smugly.
Matt went to bed wanting to cry. He knew it was stupid to cry over a dumb 
movie when there were starving children in the world and people dying of 
diseases. But Matt cried his eyes out. He didn't even think about Mr. Bongo 
when he got into his pajamas. He didn't notice the rats scratching at the 
door trying to issue a warning. He slowly slipped into the world of dreams 
without noticing the closet door slowly slip open.
Matt woke when he heard weeping. As he expected, the cries came from his 
closet. Matt was by no means a stupid boy, aware this might be a ruse. But 
he couldn't return to bed without knowing who was crying inside his closet. 
Was it Mr. Bongo? What would spur a monster to cry? Mr. Bongo was always 
in a good mood, particularly while reveling in that hunger Matt couldn't 
explain. But someone was crying.
Was it a trick? He didn't want to take a chance, to discover Mr. Bongo had 
planned something nasty for him. Matt was half way back into bed when the 
feeble cries turned into louder sobs. Matt could not ignore it. He turned, 
peeked, the kind of glimpse that people repulsed by a horror movie might 
turn reluctantly towards the film. They would watch it knowing they would be 
horrified, but determined to know what would happen next. Matt hesitated 
once before placing his palm over the handle of the closet. Maybe if he 
hadn't heard a final sob he wouldn't have opened the door. But he did hear 
it; he did open the door.
Mr. Bongo was sitting in a chair with his back to Matt, watching a huge TV 
set. Playing onscreen was The Dog and the Cat. It was the film's most heart 
breaking scene when the dog tells the cat that they can no longer be friends 
because of his master's contempt for cats. Matt felt a tear roll down his 
cheek. Suddenly a very inviting chair appeared beside Mr. Bongo. It was just 
the right size for Matt. Alongside the chair was a table full of popcorn 
and soft drinks. Mr. Bongo gestured Matt to take a seat. Matt nearly took a 
step into the closet when a voice stopped him.
"Please Matt, don't."
Matt looked down and before him was an entire army of rats.
The fattest of the rats declared, "I lost my favorite Batman toy when I was 
six. He told me he had one just like it. But I never got it."
Another said, "He offered me pizza, but it caught fire once I stepped in."
"They're lying, Matt," said Mr. Bongo, his voice wounded, reminding him of 
his mother's voice. He almost looked like her. Matt ventured a bit further 
in.
One more rat tried to plead with him. "Please Matt, don't."
The rat looked like a rat. Mr. Bongo looked like a friend. Matt shut his 
eyes, trying to think, and on its own, the closet door opened a little 
wider.
Matt remembered a time long ago when he was being punished by his father for 
something he did in school. Matt couldn't remember what he had done wrong, 
but felt guilty just the same. Back then he always slept with a beloved 
teddy bear. There were no monsters when he slept with Teddy. They wouldn't 
dare come while Teddy was protecting him. Daddy didn't know that. It was a 
secret. His father was yelling and Matt's guilt turned into fear when his 
father began to pull at Teddy's head. Matt rushed forward to save Teddy but 
it was too late. All he could do afterward was clutch his dismembered bear 
and weep. Matt then knew Teddy couldn't keep all the monsters away.
He opened his eyes upon hearing Mr. Bongo coo, "He destroyed your only 
friend, didn't he? Well, you still have friends. I'm your friend Matt. I 
love you. The rats love you, too. They can't wait for you to come in. They 
do dandy tricks and play wonderful games. And you should taste their ice 
cream. It's delicious! Please Matt, we're lonely. We're your only friends; 
don't you love us as well?''
"I have Nancy,'' said Matt. "She's my best friend!"
"Oh come now, my darling, a smart, brilliant boy such as you can't honestly 
believe that witch. She's nothing but a liar! She's in league with your 
father. She hates you. Why, she only told you about the movie so that your 
father could say no! She knew it all along! She just wants to see you 
suffer!"
Tears rolled down Matt's cheeks. "You're the liar!"
"Am I?" replied Mr. Bongo sadly. "Please Matt, won't you come in? I have all 
kinds of lovely horror comics! Just like the ones you like to read! Please 
won't you come in?"
"No! You're just trying to trick me!"
Mr. Bongo slowly recoiled back into the closet. For one second Matt thought 
he might leave him alone. But then Mr. Bongo's arm withdrew again, holding 
someone who made Matt forget his terror and step forward again.
"Teddy," Matt said hypnotically.
"Teddy and I will just have to watch The Dog and the Cat by ourselves."
"Teddy," repeated Matt, before fully entering the closet.

Little boys don't just disappear. When the usual suspects are discarded, 
the crime almost always leads to family. Matt's parents were escorted from 
their home by the police, but not before Matt's father took one last look at 
the house, his gaze drawn to the window of Matt's bedroom. Before the 
police car drove off, Matt's father was sure he saw a little rat on the 
window sill. For some reason the sight disturbed him. It was as well his 
hearing was only average. Had he been listening keenly, he would have heard 
a tiny voice squeak, "Daddy, help me. Please, Daddy."

The End