MicroHorror

The man frowned and said to the boy, “And then there are the creatures that come in the night.” The boy pulled his blanket up to his neck, as though it offered some form of protection. “Loathsome creatures,” said the man. He leaned forward. “Fearsome creatures.”

The boy asked, “What do they look like, Father?”

The man shook his head slowly. “They come under cover of darkness.”

“Do they have big teeth?” said the boy.

“Oh, no,” said the man. “These creatures won’t eat you. Being eaten would be a blessing from God.”

“Do they tear out your heart?” the boy asked.

“Tearing out your heart would be a welcome release,” said the man. “If one of these creatures comes to visit, you’ll pray that it tears out your heart.”

The boy blinked and said, “Do they suck out all your blood?”

“Not these,” said the man. His eyes opened wider and he stared at the boy. The boy shifted beneath his blanket. “They climb into your bed when you’re asleep,” the man said, “and do unspeakable things.”

“Do they have claws?” the boy said.

“At night, when they come out of hiding, they take on the appearance of ordinary men so that they can move around without being caught.”

“Have you ever seen one?” said the boy.

The man paused momentarily with his mouth open, then said, “When I was a boy, just like you. Once.”

The boy thought for a moment and asked, “Did you tell anyone?”

“Oh, no,” said the man, hurriedly. “You see, you can’t tell anyone. You mustn’t. If you tell anyone, these creatures, they return in the night and wreak their revenge in cruel and terrible ways. No, if you ever get visited by one of these creatures, you must never tell a soul. Not ever.” He placed his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. “You do understand, don’t you? How important it is not to tell anyone?”

The boy nodded.

“Good. You go to sleep now,” said the man. “And don’t forget what I told you. Not a soul must know.” He stared at the boy. The boy blinked and stared back. “Promise me,” said the man, “that you would never tell a soul if one of these creatures came to visit.”

“I promise,” said the boy.

“Good boy,” said the man. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the boy’s forehead. The boy smelled of fresh soap, pure and innocent and clean. The man went to the doorway, turned out the light, and as he closed the door said, “That’s my good boy.”

In the hallway, Father Docherty smiled and checked his watch. He would look in on the boy in an hour, when things were quiet around the place.