Don't Lie to your Kids, Trust me. They Know.
When I was a kid I knew there was a monster in the attic. At first my parents were indulgent; they bought me a nightlight and, on really bad days, they let me sleep in their bed. However, as time went on they got less and less patient with me. Told me I needed to grow up, that big girls aren't scared of monsters. No matter how many times they told me monsters weren't real I knew they were lying. The access to our attic was in my room and most nights the hatch inched upward as I lay paralyzed with fear on the bed below. I saw the monster watching me and listened to it breathe, heavy and deep. When I'd call for help, the attic hatch would always be closed by the time one of my parents came to my rescue. This fear persisted so long that I was taken to a therapist. She talked down to me in that diabetically sweet fake voice adults use to bullshit kids they think are too dumb to know better. We acted out scenes using puppets and she encouraged me to draw the monster. That was easy; I'd seen it clearly on many nights. A long neck, undersized head and one glaring red eye. Like a lamprey. Ultimately therapy didn't pan out. I worked out some anti-monster measures on my own. The blanket was my force field- as long as the monster couldn't see me it would get bored and retreat into the ceiling. Even on the hottest of nights I remained curled under a thick comforter. I also held it above me when I had to get up and use the bathroom. The monster hated water, too. I'd load up a plant spraying bottle and squirt at it, causing it to hiss and retreat. Eventually I caused it enough trouble that the monster got fed up and went to find another kid to scare. My parents breathed a sigh of relief and never brought it up again. Last year, I visited my parents in their home. Somewhere in the reminiscing my mom brought up the attic monster. She laughed but I was intrigued. Retrieving a ladder from the basement, I prepared to face my childhood fears. The attic had been sealed off and insulated by the time my parents bought the place, though it used to be a part of the house. There was some forgotten wicker furniture and other assorted junk. And, oddly, a camcorder. I brought it downstairs and popped the tape in my parent's old VCR, expecting old family movies. I was not prepared to see my younger self on the screen, staring up from my bed directly into the lens of the camera https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3g6nr2/dont_lie_to_your_kids_trust_me_they_know/