The Closet

My Frankenstein night light glows
feebly from across the room;
closetnot enough, not nearly enough
to hold it back.

My mother is a fool.

Enfolded in white linen sheets,
I’m tucked into a darkness that
smothers me tighter than this
mere covering ever could.

He will come as he comes every night I tell her.

Mother fears for me; for she sees
the look in my face as I describe
what it looks like when it comes to visit.

Ruby red eyes set in a sunken hallowed form.
Slim slit of a smile cutting a grin
in leathery skin of the blackest cast.

Its jagged nails caress
the door frame of my closet from within.

It wants in.
It beckons me over from my bed.
It cajoles with its scratching;
like a morse code of bleakness and remorse.

It simply wants…a friend.
The journey has been long in its travels
through the night just to arrive at my closet door.

All good children deserve its visit…
All good children should taste of its
delicious fear it instills.

I open the door to my closet and greet my nighttime
friend with my own devilish grin.

It has only been a day, but their taste
has already passed from my lips and tongue.

I find I want more,
the more I travel the dark ways with him,
for I have come accustomed to the taste of
all the good little children.

By Philip Wardlow

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