The Non-Monster

The sounds from outside my window aren’t real. I know that, and I also know that if I stay behind my bed, wedged between the wall and dresser, whatever it is that is making that sound will never be able to reach me.

I press my back against the wall, pushing myself up slowly with the effort of my legs, peering over the edge of the dresser, gazing into the face of the Non-Monster. Its face is hard and glistening with black things in it, black eyes and a black snarling mouth filled with pointy teeth, a calm menace in its subtle movements, chilling me to my core; a hand raised gently to the glass, bone-white talons slowly emerging.

One light tap obliterates the thin glass.

Powerfully, languidly, the Non-Monster comes through the window, it’s body rattling over the window sill like the rigid, threaded ribs of a steel culvert, a quick series of staccato bursts announcing the utter destruction of the wood along with my resolve.

Perhaps if it were real, it would feed on my terror and bathe in my screams.

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