A Cold Hug at Night for Jedidiah
Jedidiah’s father flung the covers up and groaned, “What the devil?”
“Daemon,” Jedidiah said. “It’s standing right there, inside my closet.”
“You’re too old for this—”
“For Pete’s sake, you had enough Halloween for one night. Go to bed now.” His breath smelled of spiked mulled cider.
The door closed. His dad left. But he wasn’t alone.
Jedidiah held onto his: “Is your house haunted?” A paranormal magazine, Issue No. 4, to be exact. He had a check by each box in the reddest of ink.
This was just an un-fact-checkable story, according to his father. One of which has gone the way of many campfire tales and Sunday night crokinole games at the Jessop’s. It carried no more weight than mockery. Though there was firm proof for this undeniable truth: Children are spooky little creeps who see ghosts, report past lives and chat at night with dead relatives. They all do…
He had his checklist on his lap with a flashlight shining upon it.
Do you hear voices or utterances of your own name? A red ink check was found beside that question.
Do more and more things need fixing in your home? A red check was found beside that question, as well.
And lastly, but no less importantly, have your electronics been having electrical issues as of late? This warranted both a checkmark and a circle…with five, pressure drawn arrows all pointing to it.
Jedidiah went to bed as he was told, but he was no longer brave enough to face the night. He turned on his carousel lamp and retreated under the covers. Nary a hair on his head could be seen.
He lay weeping as the room filled with the odor of Rafflesia flowers. Next a sickly, belching cloud of dark poured out from his closet. After the cloud encircled his bed, long gangling arms were revealed. They squeezed him tightly to his mattress. He could no longer move.
“I’LL NEVER LEAVE YOU.” The voice bounced off his walls from every direction.
“I know.” Jedidiah gave up. So, he hugged it back.