Sleep tight.

The young boy peered over the edge of his bedding, staring into the corner of his room.
Mum said it was just his imagination. She couldn’t see the face. He knew the woodchip wallpaper had a random pattern but each night the face had moved.

Tonight the face, screaming silently as it approaches, is at the last corner. He had whispered to mum to please not turn off the light, and dear God don’t close the door, but she just tutted and did both

Outside the room she now listens to Billy sobbing as the face stares down at him.