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Little Timmy loved his monsters. Some of them lived under his bed, and some of them lived in his closet. A few of them were small enough to fit under his dresser, and one lived in a corner of his bookshelf. Timmy didn't mind. They kept him company at night. Whenever he spotted a new one, he would take out his box of crayons and his special notebook and draw them. His mother thought that they were imaginary - a big word that meant she thought he was making them up - but he knew the truth, and that was enough.