There is a ghost that sleeps in that closet,
And there is a creature that hides beneath this bed.
The ghost lives for those tiny moments
When it can the squeak my door hinges
In the darkness.
The creature lives to bite off the toes
Of little boys like me.
And swallow them.
In the back of my grandparents' basement
There is a small room, sectioned off.
Never, never go back there.
If you do, the light will go out
And you will not be seen again.
And those woods beyond the trailer park?
For daytime only. Not for nighttime.
There are things in there that eat children.
I can tell you this because I am survivor.
My big sister, Dottie, she’s a survivor, too.
And she explained it all to me. Many times.
James Lee Jobe
18 Dec 2018
24 Apr 2019