When children go to sleep,
dreams play apart of their rest.
What happens when those dreams turn from good
It toys with their fear,
growing strong as it feeds on the screams.
A simple shift in their slumber,
only allows better capture in the dark.
wrapping tighter in their covers,
soon the blanket is a boa constrictor,
seizing tighter on the child.
A raspy gurgle.
A chilling exhale.
Eyes of pooling blood.
A small glint of death,
plagues the wicked curl of its smile.
The child can't move.
The stifled scream from the crushing blanket.
The child is frozen, only to observe.
Squeeze your eyes tightly shut, my young child!
With its hollow spine,
The slither from under the bed,
a shriek of a song.
Its claws have now sunk,
into the corner of the bed.
to perch at your feet.
Waiting for the sweet nectar,
of your breath.
Don't scream, my young child!
it inches forward.
the tightly wrapped blanket.
over the your quivering body.
Leaning closer it whispers…
"Wake up little one, time to play!"