It protects me while I sleep.
From the eight-legged reptile under my bed.
From the violent poltergeist in my kitchen.
From the woman in white with midnight hair down to her feet, who waits among the banana trees in my garden.
It protects me, the strange being in my wardrobe.
AJ Joseph occasionally writes at Words from Sonobe.
He’d nibbled fingertips and the occasional toe, but he awoke Christmas morning to an entire arm dangling over the bed.
Yes! There was a Santa Claus.
But as the monster relished the impending feast, fit for the most discerning palate, little Bobby snorted and rolled over, dashing his Christmas dreams.
Because Alison and every sleeping child knows that only dangling arms and legs are fair game for the monster under the bed.
She used to pull the covers over her head when shadows morphed into monsters.
One day she walked into her room, tears clinging to her cheeks, and the monster growled.
She growled louder.
Now she dangles her arm out the side of her bed, and they hold hands.
Katherine DeGilio has made friends with most of her demons, except for the dreaded bio. She’s a writer, yet she never knows what to write in here.
The A/C crashes and I am alone, wishing for love. The heat creeps in. I sigh, knowing sleep will be difficult.
My head hits the pillow and I stick my foot out for relief. I hear from under the bed, “I’ll always love you.” And then claws tickle my foot.
Lucas Chapman studies English and History at Saint Louis University. He enjoys eating toasted ravioli and running unnecessary distances.