It Has Human Teeth

It has human teeth and there’s something wrong with its eyes.

No one believes me when I say that it lives in my curtains. No one checks when I ask them to. No one takes a stick and beats the fabric to force it out.

It has human teeth and there’s something wrong with its eyes.

When I bang on the door and I scream, they don’t come. When I beg to be let out, they don’t come. When I hide and I cower, it stares at me and smiles with those human teeth.

It crawls up beneath my sheets.

No one comes when I scream.

Its cold hands stroke my legs.

No one comes when I cry.

Its wet tongue licks at my flesh and its teeth scratch my skin. But no one comes when I scream.

It has human teeth and there’s something wrong with its eyes.

I sit by the door, and I watch the curtains at night. I sit by the fire until the embers stop glowing. I hold my knees to my chest, and I wait. I watch those eyes and those glistening teeth.

It has human teeth and there’s something wrong with its eyes.

I scream through the lock of my door to the hall. I bang on the wood as the servants walk by. I yell, and I cry until I cough up blood, but no one comes. No one comes.

It has human teeth and there’s something wrong with its eyes.

It sits in the corner of the room and watches. It smiles at my tears as I cower in bed. I bury my head and try to hide. I close my eyes; I whisper that I am safe. That nothing can harm me. I hold my breath, listening for its claws on the floorboards. I listen for that scraping. When I hear nothing, I open my eyes. I breathe out. I lift my head and see it lying there beside me, smiling.

It has human teeth and there’s something wrong with my eyes.

It does not move if you watch it. It only moves when you look away. It knows that it has no power so long as you can see it. So long as you can always see it. It sits in the shadows and waits for you to fall asleep, and then when you do, it comes for you.

It takes you by the heel and drags you under the bed. It crawls over you, pins you to the floor with its cold body. It strokes your face, claws at your skin with fingers dripping in sweat and blood. It licks at your cheeks and breathes against your neck. Its breath is decay, the smell of all things unpleasant. Its spit is black. It comes for your eyes.

I have human teeth and there’s something wrong with my eyes.

They only came when I was silent. When the banging and scratching and screaming stopped. When the room fell silent, and the crying had ceased, then they came.

They unlocked the door and looked for me. They pulled off the bedsheets, threw open the wardrobe. They checked that the windows were locked. They were. They searched, and they cried when they could not find me.

I warned them. I told them to check the curtains at night. They did not listen. They did not learn. So it took me from them. I stare at them now from the shadows. I wait. I wait in the curtains.

I understand what it is now, and in some way, I pity it. I would do the same if I were in its place. Will do the same. I understand now.

I have human teeth and there’s something wrong with my eyes.