I walked home with a proud, firm step, casually displaying the magazine to the vast public eye, to friend and foe alike. I tried to act nonchalant, as though this were old stuff to an established writer like me. It was a day of glory, of triumph, rivaling Caesar's victorious march into Rome. That evening I read the story over and over again, marveling at the perfection of its form, savoring the exquisite flavor of each delicate, richly-hued, word, the uniqueness of each choice, well-turned phrase. I fell asleep with the magazine in my hand. * * * * * The next morning the monbeast was sitting at the foot of my bed. "Okay, okay," it said, blinking its bug-eyes at me, "don't act so surprised. MacDonald warned you, didn't he?" "But--but--" "Sure, I'm real," the monbeast volunteered, scratching its scaly head with a long-nailed finger. "That's the trouble with you guys. You're full of imagination, but you can't face reality." "Where--where'd you come from?" The monbeast shrugged massive green shoulders. "The whole thing's much too technical for me to worry about. All I know is us BEMs exist, and we get to your dimension via science-fiction." "That 'power of mind' MacDonald was talking about?" I said, shuddering a bit. "Something like that. Other forms of fiction deal with things native to your world. Science-fiction regards us BEMs as real, so while we don't ordinarily exist here, there's a stress created in the barrier between us, and we come through." "Then you're really real?" "Practically. Right now, though, you're the only one who can see and hear me. You haven't characterized me sufficiently so that the readers will be convinced that I'm real. But that's okay. You'll improve." "Thanks. But now what about you?" I said, trying to not appear overanxious. "Are you returning to your own dimension or are you staying here for awhile?" * * * * * The monbeast grinned, showing the eighty sharp-pointed teeth I knew it possessed. "Sorry, I'm here to stay. I'm your brainchild, you know, so I'll have to stick to you." I gulped. "Stick to me?" "Only figuratively," the monbeast said. "But I'll be around." He cocked a bug-eye at me and said gravely, "We'd better get a few things straight right from the start. One of them is that as far as you're concerned, I'm as real as that bedpost." "Real?" I tried to laugh that off, but the sound came out a little weakly. "That's silly. You're just a product of my imagination." "Am I?" the monbeast said. He thrust the scaly face close to mine and yawned. Suddenly the room became a turkish bath. "Okay, okay," I said hastily, "turn it off." Coolness came, and I breathed easier as the steam dissipated. "Secondly, you're going to create bigger and better BEMs and make them more convincing," the monbeast continued. "With all you writers turning us loose, we can have a swell time in this world."