by Cory Cone
It took Tommy from his bed just a moment ago. He's too little to fight back. He just let the little thing drag him across the carpet. I didn't know what to do, so I just watched him struggle, fingernails dug into the carpet, as he disappeared into the quivering blackness. I'm too scared to call out for Mommy because maybe if I'm quiet and don't move a muscle it'll close the door and go away. I must be quiet.
It's back, standing crooked just a few feet from the door, sniffing and searching.
Don't move. Don't Move. Don't Move.
Author bio: Bio: Cory Cone is a graduate of the Maryland Institute College of Art. He lives and works in Baltimore, MD with his wife and two cats. Keep up with him at www.corycone.com and twitter.com/corycone