“Shall I leave a note for your sister, telling her where we are?”
“You can. But you’ll hear when they get back. The front door is very slammy.”
“I think maybe you should take me up to my bedroom, and then you can tell me a story before I go to sleep"
“Are they from television?”
“Click-Clacks, are the best monsters ever.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think any people know where they come from. Mostly they come from the dark.”
The stairs creaked beneath the threadbare stair-carpet.
We walked along the upper corridor in the shadows, walking from patch of moonlight to patch of moonlight.
“They come from the dark,” said the boy, holding on to my hand. “
He pushed open the door to the attic room. It was perfectly dark, now, but the opening door disturbed the air, and I heard things rattle gently, like dry bones in thin bags, in the slight wind.
I would have pulled away, then, if I could, but small, firm fingers pulled me forward, unrelentingly, into the dark.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
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