Closer to darkness than anticipated,
the shadows breach the wall and slip
across the carpet.

With childish certainty the danger slides
and toils and bristles with thorns and eyes,
and eyes peer out from under sheets.

Magic never stood the test of time,
but clutching teddy close
prevents a mind spilling into tears.

Evil stalks on spindle legs
grown knobby and buckled through age,
the weight of slushy ooze a challenge.

Ears pick out the smacking of lips,
a meal made of child on the menu,
the slither of entrails never tucked in.

Move and be found, the little boy lost
inside the mind of an adult left to think,
quake with unease, but barely breath in truth.

While eager tentacles fumble with claws
made scratchy through crushing babies bones,
a pulse throbs under the blankets.

Catch the glow beneath sleeping cloth,
the torch bulb switched to combat fear,
and see the throwing off of covers.

The monster reels, flailing parts unknown,
descending the stair that waits in silence
at the back of the wardrobe.

A morning bird weaves tapestries in light,
and shadows best left forgotten await
another closing night.