By Siobhan Tebbs
Burglars under the plastic table…a wolf at the foot of the bed.
He’s bundled up, cowering, duvet wrapped around his twig legs. His bladder is begging for relief. Darkness means you can’t tell what’s there and what’s not.
The sooner you go to sleep—the sooner breakfast time will come.
He’s biting his thumb, curling his toes. Thud-thud goes his heart in his neck.
Is that a ghost or a dressing gown?
Sharp teeth could strike at any moment. Vile strangers might drag him away.
A flick of the light switch could bring respite, but moving would mean he was afraid.
That last line is so true.
The irrationality of fear.
This evokes memories. I can recall lying in bed at night, wondering if and when The Thing Under the Bed (or in the Closet) would emerge and do vile things to me. Liked this one a lot!
I could identify throughout! Really well written.