The Writing Machine

Stories by Christian Cloud Abraham

The Demon Behind the Door: A Bedtime Story

When I was a very small child, my mother used to tuck me in bed. She would say, “Sweet dreams my precious child.” Pushing my hair aside, she would kiss my forehead, rise from the bed, and back out of my room as she shut the door. And as she went, the door closing slowly, her smile, the lights fading away, the cloaked Demon behind the door appeared more and more until the latch clicked, the lights vanished, and I was alone in the darkness with the Demon. As my mother’s footsteps trailed down the hall, the Demon would glide across the floor and stand beside my bed. I would lie perfectly still as he looked over me for very long periods of time. I would watch him raise his arm and extend from out of his sleeve—that hung low and was deep and dark—a long bony hand. It was translucent and pulsed with a blue glow from strands of electricity trapped inside his body shooting in all directions. The bony blue glowing hand would descend upon my head and when I’d feel the warm hum of his touch he would say, “Good night my little monster.” And I would fall sound asleep.

END
© 2005 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on September 18, 2005 in
Emotion: Tender, Type: Fiction