The monsters and I had an agreement – I brought them things they needed and they didn’t eat me. We formed this truce when I first discovered them living under my bed. 30 years later, they’ve moved out of my room and into the basement but the truce still holds. While we do have a written, notarized agreement, that stupid piece of paper has heightened my paranoia instead of giving me any peace of mind. I go to bed fully expecting to be awoken by a gentle flurry of pieces of the contract falling onto my body like seasoning as…