![]() I scampered after my child, reaching for the retreating feet as it fled for the safety of its bed. In the thundering noise I became The Hand That Lives In The Toilet (Children have such a wonderful imagination). I waited for the flush to shatter the silence. When my child went to the bathroom in the dead of night, I was there in the shadows. I hid down dark alleys and in the shadows of the garden. I lurked in the wardrobes, in the basement, and in the attic. Each night I crept around the house, creaking floorboards, moving things, sliding between the walls, tapping at the window, and corrupting dreams. I drew the shadows around me like a thick blanket and accepted what I was.Įach night I woke up the Boogie Man. When my child was finally calm and asleep in the father’s arms I crawled back under the bed. I hid in the wardrobe and found myself face to face with my reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door. I turned away, falling back further into the shadows as the adults looked around. My anger continued to build until it erupted and the whole room shook. I felt it touch the objects around me and make them vibrate. Who were they that gave them the right to come between us? I felt anger building up from within. How dare they do such things to my child. I envied the contact they had as they diminished the fear with hugs and soft words. My child cried out and I backed away into the shadows before I was seen.įootsteps rushed to the room and two adults came in to comfort my child. I should have pulled my hand away but I could not help myself. I paused my approaching hand just before contact and felt the dream crumble into something darker. A whimper escaped from young lips and I could sense it was from a dream. The closer my gnarled hand came to my child, the more unsettled my child became. I reached out to stroke the hair back from my child’s face to get a better look. I wish I could remember more, but truthfully it did not matter. I belonged here, though I could not tell you where that was or remember my child’s name or gender. I did not know what illness had me in its grasps, but as I stood there next to my child I was at peace. I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of breathing and my concerns bled away. I suffered some kind of blackout because the next thing I knew I was stood at the bottom of my child’s bed. I staggered back against the wall wondering what could have possibly have happened to me? When I concentrated harder some features became visible and I was appalled. The figure reflected before me was tall, willowy and featureless. Instead I relied on the moonlight coming through the window. I made my way to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror, but when I got there I could not bring myself to turn on the light. I must be ill, that be a plausible explanation for both my physical condition and the memory loss. It was deformed and looked burned or diseased, or possibly both. I reached out for a door handle and saw my hand. I walked around the house feeling like I had walked these rooms and corridors countless times before and I knew that this house was mine. I felt certain that the rest of my memories would eventually return, but for now I did not need them. Still no memories, but I did experience a strong sense of belonging. I watched the child sleep and felt a strong bond between us and knew that it was my child. I eased myself out and stood at the bottom of the bed. I heard the sound of a ticking clock, a car passing outside, and…yes, a child breathing. Why was I under a bed? Was I hiding from some kind of danger? I did not think so, but I stayed motionless just in case. ![]() I made out more of my surroundings and realized that I was lying under a bed. The scents and sounds around me felt familiar. While I lay there trying to remember, my eyes adjusted and vague outlines took shape. ![]() I opened my eyes to a blanket of darkness.
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