Little Terrors

Writing, and rewriting, scenes about monsters seemed like a good idea at the time.  But now, lying in the dark, duvet pulled up past my chin, I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet outside the door.

Tiny, furry feet.

Up and down the stairs, they disturb the floorboards and baby’s toys; I hear the giggle of a plastic, smiling child.

The door creaks open…

Not quite terrifying beasts, but still little terrors.

They leave me alone all day, until I open a book or newspaper.  Then they come running.


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