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Every now and then, when I can’t sleep, I climb from the bed Andrea and I share. I go down to the closet and bury myself behind the coats and listen for the thing in the locked room. I leave the closet door open, so it isn’t scary the way it was when Mother shut me in there when I was bad.
I start with a gentle knock. Once, twice, lightly with my knuckles. If the thing doesn’t answer right away, I knock a little harder. Then I hear a shift, a clanking of metal. And two knocks back. If I knock three times, it knocks three times. The thing in the locked room does whatever I do. It follows my lead.
Sometimes the thing makes muffled throat sounds. Moans or grunts. Sometimes I sing to it and it quiets. Singing the thing to sleep helps me fall back asleep, most days. The thing and I become
