Under the Bed

Curled to the side,
my hand falls down.
Sleep comes slow often,
ponderously avoiding my eyes.

As I lie, restlessly cold,
I wonder and wander,
lost in dreaming oceans,
balmy mind drifting.
Maybe tonight, I think,
dreams will come true.

Then something touches me,
grasps my cold hand gently.
Clawed talons prick my knuckles,
drag against my blue veins,
then rest in shaking grip.

I lie awake, aware,
waiting for something more.
Just the grip remains,
waiting for me too.
“Hello,” I whisper, afraid.

A pause, a growl.
Then a sexless voice
and a softer response.

“Hello,” answers the shadows,
and I fall asleep quickly,
comforted by shadows’ grip.