I looked under the bed, but he wasnâ€™t there. I tried the closet, but he wasnâ€™t there either. Sock drawer? No. Behind the bedroom door, or the curtains? No, no, no. He was gone!
I was old. I was old and he had gone. His claws and fangs and matted fur â€“ the reason I hid under the duvet at night. Gone to rattle some other radiator, or squeak some other floorboard, no doubt.
I miss him sometimes. I miss him because the monsters are real now. I am old and the monsters are real. And there is no going back.