RD Crist

Bedtime Stories

The lowering moon reflected a glow across a deadened tree, and stretched the various forked shadows onto a window that sheltered eleven orphaned children, boarded at a home for witches. The turbulent weather wrenched the bare branches of the tree and its corresponding shadow in different directions, which projected deep into the somber room, sporadically reaching into and about the depts of every wakeful child’s fearful expanse. A screech and a scratch steadily resonated against the outer walls, and then silence, until…