the stocking monster

lois e. linkens


it is late, too late to still be awake. it is a school night, father said. i hope you will be asleep when i get home. i wonder why he thinks he can say that, and expect me to sleep. i cannot even close my eyes knowing that he is not here. somebody might get me.
i have been lying for hours now. the light from the street lamps makes patterns through the holes in my curtains, and it keeps me entertained. like clouds, but for the night time.
i have left the window open, and the autumn chill has snuck its way into the room with me. sometimes my toes escape under the end of my duvet and the cold tickles me, i yank my feet back under the duvet. they are safe there.
i imagine little green monsters scampering around on the carpet, hiding behind the legs of…

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