The Monster Will Sleep in Your Bed
Reading Time: 12 min
About Story: The Monster Will Sleep in Your Bed is a from brazil set in the . This tale explores themes of and is suitable for . It offers insights. A Brazilian folktale where parents tell children of a mischievous monster, often the Bicho Papão, who might sleep in their bed if they don’t go to sleep early, encouraging timely bedtime through a spooky yet playful narrative.
Introduction
Soft light pooled on the wooden floorboards like a spilled jug of milk. In that gentle glow, Ana and Lucas tiptoed around mismatched slippers and a stray rugby ball. Their grandmother, Vó Mariana, called from the kitchen in a voice as warm as fresh pão de queijo. “Puxa vida, children,” she said. “You’ll summon the Bicho Papão if you stay up past bedtime.” The air carried the faint tang of citrus from a half-peeled orange at the window sill. A distant chorus of cicadas droned like a lullaby gone awry. Each hesitant footstep echoed of childish defiance. Ana wriggled her toes in a worn cotton sock stamped with tiny toucans. The coarse thread rubbed gently against her heel. Lucas, restless, pressed an ear to the door, listening for his grandmother’s final admonition. A hush fell. The room felt cold, though the night was warm. He tasted peppermint from earlier toothpaste on his tongue. “Do you reckon the Papão really sleeps under our bed?” he whispered. His words hung like a cobweb in the pale light. Ana shrugged. Her hair smelled faintly of shampoo scented with mango. Quiet settled around them like a velvet cloak. The rumble of a distant car matched the beat of their hearts. Shadows stretched and shifted, dancing to an unseen tune. Vó Mariana’s warning fluttered back: bedtime must come swiftly. For if not, the monster would creep in and tuck itself beside them, keen on rainbow-coloured pyjamas and giggles. Somewhere, a cricket chirped like a tiny mechanism. In that moment, the siblings realised that night held secrets darker than any closet. And so their adventure began – a chase through sleep’s threshold to outwit a creature no bigger than a rumour, yet as large as a dream.
A Whisper in the Night
As the clock ticked past nine, every second felt heavy. Ana’s heartbeat thumped against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. Lucas tugged at the corner of his blanket, eyes wide as saucers, flickering with fright and excitement. Their grandmother’s words danced in their minds: the Bicho Papão lurked in corners and corners only, waiting for a chance to slip into open hearts. A cool breeze drifted through the window, carrying the scent of jasmine and distant rain. It was as if nature itself joined the performance of shadows on the wall. Ana reached for her brother’s hand. Their fingertips met with a little spark, like the snap of twigs underfoot. “Listen,” she breathed. Somewhere far away, a dog barked twice, then fell silent. In the hush, the siblings heard a tiny scrape beneath the bed. Furniture legs cast long, crooked shadows that looked like twisted branches. Lucas gulped. “Show yourself,” he challenged, though his voice trembled. They knelt and peered, imaginations blazing like fireworks. Under the mattress, they saw only darkness – but that darkness seemed to pulse, alive. Their skin prickled. Lucas sensed movement, a whisper of cloth brushing against floorboards. A low rumble vibrated in the wood, as though something heavy shifted. He smelled mothballs from an old suitcase tucked behind a chest. Ana’s breath caught at the coppery tang of fear. A fleeting shape darted away, quick as a lizard escaping a footstep. “Tá me tirando?” whispered Lucas, using the jeitinho brasileiro to mask his panic with bravado. Ana forced a laugh that cracked like thin ice. They traded a glance – equal parts thrill and dread. In the distance, Vó Mariana hummed a lullaby so soft it felt like satin against the ear. It was a reminder that night, though shadowed, belonged to memory and dreams. Yet here, beneath the bedframe, lay a presence hungry for mischief. The children drew back, brushing their knees on the cool floor. A scrap of blanket trailed behind like a lost ribbon. The hush returned, settling like fine dust, but the whisper of claws against wood lingered. The game had begun.
Chasing Shadows
Ana and Lucas leap from the bedside like twin gazelles startled by the night. Their bare feet hit the floor with a soft thud. The corridor beyond their door stretched like an endless tunnel of grey, lit here and there by the amber glow of night-lights. Each lamp threw crooked silhouettes that danced on the walls, resembling dancers at a masked ball. The children crept along, ears tuned to every breath of the house. A wooden floorboard moaned under Lucas’s weight. He froze. Above, the rickety fan whirred with a faint metallic taste in the air. Ana’s shoulder brushed a hanging painting of a palm tree. She caught the textured pattern of the canvas under her fingertips as if reading Braille. A distant drip-drip from the bathroom faucet echoed like a countdown. They reached the living room. The sofa, piled with crocheted cushions, offered a sweet scent of lavender sachets tucked beneath. Lucas sniffed, comforted for a moment, but then remembered the monster could hide anywhere. He spotted a tall curtain moving slightly. “Did you see that?” he hissed. Ana nodded, heart drumming like a taiko drum. They flung the fabric aside. Only dust motes drifted in the narrow beam of light. The hush felt heavier now. With determined steps, they advanced toward the kitchen door, where warm yellow light beckoned. Through the frosted glass, they glimpsed Vó Mariana washing dishes, humming under her breath. Her hair glinted silver. She did not notice them. Behind the stove, tiles shone like tiny mirrors. The children exchanged a glance. Lucas tip-toed in first, Ana close behind. The cold tile against his socked foot sent a shiver up his spine. He imagined the Bicho Papão crouching behind the flour tin. Ana took a grain of rice from an open sack. It felt smooth, almost slippery. She tossed it on the floor. It skittered across the tile like a marble, stopping at the edge of a cupboard door. The siblings held their breath. A minute passed, then two. Nothing stirred. Encouraged, they edged toward the stove. The scent of coffee grounds and cinnamon lingered. Lucas’s stomach fluttered, a reminder of supper’s delay. He wondered if the Papão would eat leftovers. They rounded the corner. A cabinet door ajar revealed deep shadows behind. Lucas flashed a grin. “Gotcha.” He yanked it open. A cascade of wooden spoons clattered to the floor. He jumped back, eyes watering from the sudden noise. Ana laughed, a bright peal like silver bells. Vó Mariana looked up, surprised. “Meninos!” she exclaimed, wiping sudsy hands on her apron. The children melted into her warmth, forgetting for a moment the lurking beast. Yet neither truly relaxed. For in that moment between laughter and relief, a soft rustle sounded from the pantry’s depths. A cold draft whispered of mischief. The chase through shadows was far from over.
A Clever Plan
Back in their bedroom, Ana and Lucas regrouped under the patchwork quilt. Their breath came fast, clouding the thin air with excitement. The floor felt cool beneath them, like stepping on river stones. They huddled close. Ana’s eyes sparkled with a sudden idea, bright as fireflies at dusk. “We’ll fool him,” she whispered. Lucas cocked his head. “How?” He flicked a loose thread on the quilt. That rough texture scratched his palm. She pointed beneath the bed. “We’ll leave a decoy.” His curiosity soared. “A decoy?” he asked. “Yes,” she said, “a makeshift monster for the Bicho Papão to chase. Then we’ll slip away to bed.” The corridors outside held only the rhythmic pulse of the ceiling fan and the far-off chirruping of crickets. Ana rummaged through their nightstand. Out came an old teddy bear with one glass eye. Its tweed fur was tangled, smelling faintly of peppermint from an earlier mint leaf tucked in its paw. Lucas draped a red cape—actually his cousin’s Halloween costume—around the toy. It billowed like a tiny cloak of courage. He pulled two mismatched socks over its paws. “Perfect,” he breathed. “Bicho Papão won’t know the difference.” They positioned the stuffed creature in the centre of the room, propped against a toy chest. Shadows stretched it into a hulking silhouette. Their plan felt crisp, like turning a fresh page in a storybook. They backed away, pressing themselves against the wall. Every heartbeat sounded like a drumroll. The lamp’s golden glow flickered as if hesitant. The siblings exchanged a conspiratorial grin. Then they slipped under the covers of their own bed. Their palms were clammy, yet they felt triumphant. They closed their eyes, pretending to snore. Minutes ticked by. The only sound was the distant drip of the bathroom faucet. Then came a soft shuffle, like feathers brushing fabric. The mattress creaked on one side. Ana stifled a giggle; Lucas bit his lip. A low growl rolled through the room. The siblings lay as still as statues, breathing shallowly. Beneath them, the floor quivered. The stuffed bear toppled with a muted thump. A sharpened breath rasped from the next moment. They dared not move. The lamp’s flame leaned towards the darkness, casting an eerie beam. The growl blended with the fan’s hum—a monstrous harmony. Then a crunch. Something heavy crawled across the quilt’s hem. It sniffed silver-threaded seams, its nose cold as winter. Ana felt the wall tremble softly. The beast—if beast it was—huffed. It honked like an old accordion. Lucas squeezed his sister’s hand so hard his nails bit into her skin. He smelled night-blooming flowers wafting from outside. The creature lingered, curious. Then, without warning, it lunged towards the decoy’s cape. A panicked snort and a smear of fluff on the floor told them it had taken the bait. It staggered back under the painted chestnut bedframe. The siblings held their breath until a heavy exhale rattled the floorboards. Their cunning had worked. The Bicho Papão was distracted, chasing a shadow of its own imagination. Under the quilt, they dared a triumphant grin. Victory tasted sweet, like honeyed guava jam. The monster was fooled. Soon, it would be time to sleep. And that was the best trick of all.
The Final Lullaby
The house settled into silence after the decoy gambit. Ana and Lucas lay still, hearts slow as they listened to soft breathing. The Bicho Papão had chased its mirror image and now wandered away, bewildered. Through the window, slivered moonbeams danced across the ceiling like shy spirits. A distant rooster called, hinting at dawn’s approach. The air smelled faintly of fresh linen and orange blossoms. The quilt’s patchwork pressed gently at their shoulders, warm and reassuring. Lucas shifted, peering into the darkness. He imagined the creature retreating into forgotten cupboards and unused drawers. “Think he’ll come back?” he murmured. Ana yawned, eyelids heavy as curtains at twilight. She felt safe beneath the covers now. “Nah,” she said. “He’s off chasing socks in the shadows.” Lucas chuckled, a soft sound like rain on a tin roof. Vó Mariana’s lullaby drifted through the house, otherworldly and calm. Each note felt like a feather brushing their ears. The melody carried the wisdom of generations, teaching that night belonged to dreams, not fear. Ana inhaled deeply. The scent of vanilla from her pillow misted in her lungs. Lucas released a contented sigh. Their imaginations, once as wild as jungle cats, drew closer to sleep’s soft edge. Outside, the banana leaves rustled, whispering goodnight to the world. A breeze carried the faint hum of a neighbour’s radio playing a gentle samba. It sounded like distant laughter from another realm. Ana’s last thought was a simple prayer: may tomorrow be bright with sunlit adventures. Lucas drifted on a wave of comfort, knowing the Bicho Papão would not return tonight. Bedroom walls, painted in pastel hues, glowed like safety belts around them. The last lines of Vó Mariana’s hymn faded, leaving behind warmth. Then came peaceful hush. In sleep, the children found courage, for they had faced a monster as tricky as moonlight itself. And so, as they slept, the Bicho Papão slumbered elsewhere, perhaps telling its own tale to the silent shadows. And the night, once feared, felt as soft as cotton and as kind as a grandmother’s embrace.
Conclusion
Morning dawned soft and golden, as though the sun tiptoed through the curtains to peek at two sleeping heroes. Ana stirred, blinking against the pale light. Lucas yawned, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. They remembered the night’s escapades, of shadows chased and cunning gambits that outwitted a legendary beast. A gentle rustle announced Vó Mariana’s entrance, holding a tray of steaming pão de queijo and guava juice. The aroma was welcoming, floral and warm. She smiled, eyes twinkling. “Well done, meus queridos,” she said, her voice wrapping around them like a favourite blanket. “The Bicho Papão won’t trouble you again tonight.” Ana beamed, wiping a crumb from her cheek. Lucas nodded, feeling braver than ever. Their grandmother’s proud gaze felt like a spotlight on two champions of their own bedtime story. In the soft glow of morning, the house seemed transformed. Shadows of the night’s fears had vanished like mist. The playful monster, once so fearsome, had become a lesson in courage and cleverness. As they sipped their juice, the children made a pact: never to dawdle at bedtime again. The memory of rustling feet beneath the bed and the thrill of the chase would guide them gently into each night’s rest. And should the Bicho Papão return in another dream, they knew how to greet it—with laughter, clever ruses and a heart that knew no fear. After all, night can be as brave as day when you face it together. With that, they rose from the table, ready for a new day’s adventure, leaving behind the echoes of a nocturnal triumph in a Brazilian home where bedtime was never again a battle.
