Beverly woke up at 2AM after doing some ill-advised self-medicating the night before. She heard some scratching and bumping noises. She slurred, “What the hell is that?”

A voice which resembled that of James Earl Jones came from under her bed: “I’m the night monster.”

A groggy Beverly slurred, “No, you’re not; I’m either dreaming or you are a side effect of me mixing vodka and my migraine prescription. I don’t believe in you.”

“Oh, you will, but if as you say I’m not real, you wouldn’t mind if I got in bed with you.”

“Sure, why not. I haven’t had any need for the extra space.” Beverly fell asleep again after what appeared to be a human male in the faintly lit room crawled in next to her.

When she next woke, she decided no more mixing alcohol and meds, then rolled over and bumped into something. She felt scales on a mostly human body and a normal bald head. The body spoke, “Do you believe in me now?”

After a few seconds to calm herself, “Still not sure; it could be aftereffects.”

“Do you mind if I convince you?”

“Go ahead.”

The night monster burrowed under the covers and used his long-forked tongue to full advantage while humming the Led Zeppelin song “Kashmir.” Beverly had an orgasm which produced body waves accompanied by a mental montage of her favorite times: she cuddled her favorite kitten Batface, had sex with boyfriend Joe in the backseat of a Ford Mustang when she was a teenager, and won a $10,000 lottery.

“Okay, I’m starting to believe. Do you mind if I explore you now?”

“Seems fair. Your turn.”

Beverly didn’t know what to expect between his legs. After his previous masterful performance, she was disappointed to find something soft and small. She asked, “Is that it?”

“Oh, I didn’t know your taste, so I started off small. Try again.”

This time, she found an eighteen-inch tent pole. “Umm, if you take requests, how about something in-between?”

“As you desire. Climb on, cowgirl.”

37 minutes later, Beverly asked, “Can you come again?”

“That could have two different meanings, but the answer to both is yes.”

“I mean, if I want you to visit again, how do I get in touch?”

“Knock on the headboard three times. Probably a bad idea if you have company. If I’m available, I’ll get here. I do have other appointments.”

“Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Will I have monster babies like in The Demon Seed or Rosemary’s Baby?”

“It won’t happen unless I revise my DNA. We aren’t fertility compatible.”

“Another thing. What do I tell my boyfriend Bob?”

“I don’t think that Bob will mind if you break up with him. My sister is visiting him tonight and has spoiled him for human women, much as you would be disappointed by any human man now. Both of you may want to have fake relationships to give the appearance of normality, but nothing will compare to night monsters.”