The Not Nasty Monster
a read aloud story
by Sharon Tregenza

As you know Monsters are nasty creatures. They’re big and ugly with tempers to match. Even the little green monsters have sharp teeth and will bite off your toes. They’ll do anything they can to frighten you.
But Quiddle is different.

His father is mean and nasty enough – he’s the big hairy type monster with flashing green eyes and a terrible roar. He loves to hide in your wardrobes and jump out late at night just as you are falling asleep. The louder you scream the happier he’ll be. Of curse he makes himself invisible as soon as your parents come running in. And it doesn’t matter how often they search through the clothes and the toys – they’ll never find him. They’ll tell you it’s only a bad dream.
But Quiddle is different.

His mother is mean and nasty enough too – she’s the quick moving- scratching -hiding under your bed- type of monster. She’ll wait until you’re just nodding off and then scrape her long nails on the floor or tug at the bedclothes. All you’ll see is the shape of her bony hand in the dark. Of course, at the first sign of your parents she’ll disappear too. Your parents will tell you that she’s only a bad dream as well.
But Quiddle is different.

Quiddle is the little green type monster with the sharp teeth. But Quiddle doesn’t want to eat anyone’s toes. The truth is Quiddle doesn’t like the taste of toes. He doesn’t like the taste of any of the usual monster food. His spider soup makes him feel ill and he thinks his mother’s fried slug and pebble pie is awful.

Quiddle’s mother and father were worried about him. Not only was he showing signs of being different from all the other little monsters, he was also getting very thin.

‘I worry about that boy,’ said his mother.’ I think he may be showing signs of being …’ and she whispered so that none of the other mother monsters could hear, ‘ . . . nice.’

‘I’ll have no son of mine growing into a NICE monster,’ roared his father.’ He’ll learn to be nasty like everyone else.’

They took Quiddle to a room in a house in a town nearby.
‘Look,’ they whispered to him in the middle of the moonlit room. ‘Just look at those plump little toes peeping out from under the sheet. Go and eat them.’
‘I’d really rather not,’ said Quiddle.
‘Just a quick chew,’ said his father.
‘No thank you,’ said Quiddle.
Just a little nibble,’ said his mother.
‘No thank you,’ said Quiddle.

His father was angry. ‘Call yourself a monster!’ he roared.’ Off you go right now and gobble up those juicy toes!’

Reluctantly, Quiddle crept up to the bed where a boy called Freddie lay dreaming of ice cream cones. Quiddle looked at the ten pink toes peeping out from under the sheet. They did look plump and juicy, he had to admit. They did look just ripe and ready for a bite, he had to admit that too, and, before he realised what he was doing, Quiddle’s sharp little teeth were clamping down on Freddie’s big toe.

AGGGHH! screamed Freddie, his dream ice cream melting in a minute.

Quiddle’s mother and father recognised a parent scream when they heard one and promptly disappeared. But Quiddle was too frightened. He hid under the bed as the door crashed open and Freddie’s mother ran into his room.

‘My toes!’ screamed poor Freddie.’ Something bit my toes!’
‘Oh darling,’ said his mother, ‘you were just dreaming.’
‘No I wasn’t,’ said Freddie. ‘My dreams all have cakes and chocolate with ice cream and toffee toppings.’

His mother tucked him in. ‘I meant a bad dream,’ she said. ‘They’re full of monsters. Big, hairy, green eyed monsters or nasty, scratching under the bed monsters and sometimes little, green, toe eating monsters.’

Freddie was sure that it wasn’t a dream and his big toe throbbed. When his mother had switched out the light and gone back to her room, Freddie took a torch from his bedside table and examined his toes. Sure enough there were teeth marks.

A movement at the bottom of his bed - Freddie flashed the torchlight. And there was Quiddle.
A quaking Quiddle,
a quivering Quiddle
a wide-eyed, terrified Quiddle.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I shouldn’t have bitten your toes.’

‘No,’ said Freddie.’ It was a mean thing to do.’

‘But I am hungry and monster food tastes so awful.’ Freddie was immediately interested. Anything to do with food interested Freddie.
‘What do you eat?’ he asked.
Quiddle told him about the spider soup and the fried slug and pebble pie. He decided not to make too much of the eating toes thing.

‘Ugh! Stop it,’ said Freddie. ‘You’re making me feel queasy.’
‘I know,’ said Quiddle. ‘But I’m getting thin and ill because there’s nothing I like to eat.’

‘Wait right here,’ said Freddie.
He crept out into the kitchen and came back with a large tub of chocolate chip ice cream. He handed Quiddle a spoon.

Quiddle tasted the ice cream and became a quiet Quiddle.
‘This is the most wonderful thing in the whole world,’ he whispered with awe.
‘I know,’ said Freddie. ‘You can come back and have more anytime you want.’
‘Thank you,’ said Quiddle.
And the boy and the little green monster finished off the whole tub of chocolate chip ice cream in the middle of the moonlit night.

THE END