"Don't think about it, that's all. There is nothing there that can hurt
you, if you just don't think about it. So don't think about it--that's
Daddy's big boy."
"Well-ll.... And then can we sleep with you and Momma?"
Aunt Martha rang in her nickel's worth. "A boy ought to be ashamed to
be afraid of a little mouse."
"It's not--"
"Not what?"
"Uh--it's Mr. Bear that's afraid. Of the--"
"And you just stop that nonsense about those ridiculous stuffed
animals, you hear me? Nobody should make such a fuss about a little
mouse."
"Momma does. Momma!" Tommy let two fat tears trickle down his cheeks, a
warning, but he meant them too. "Momma-a-a, can't we--"
"All right, all right! Stop this stupid wrangling! You know how it
gets on my nerves. For goodness' sake, let him sleep with us tonight.
Anyway, _I_ don't blame him. I wouldn't sleep a wink in the same room
with a mouse. Be sure you shut our door tonight. Tight."
"You're spoiling the child," said Aunt Martha sourly.
"Auntie," said Tommy, "I bet you're chicken to let your door stay open."
"Well!" huffed Aunt Martha. "The impertinence! I certainly _shall_ keep
my door open. No mouse is going to keep me from getting good, fresh
air."
* * * * *
Tommy was a very bright little boy. Now, with the door shut in Momma
and Daddy's room, and Aunt Martha's door open, he wouldn't think about
the Ugly Thing in the hole--waiting for dark, real dark--to come
out--and eat.
"All right, Tommy. This once you can sleep with your mother and me. Get
on to bed and mind you sleep quiet. And don't spread those stuff--your
family all over the bed either."
"Yes, Daddy. And, Daddy--"
"What?"
"I won't think about it now, the Thing in the hole."
Tommy said his good nights. Tonight he even kissed Aunt Martha as if
he meant it. And he took his family and he went to bed in Momma and
Daddy's room.
He did not think about the Ugly Thing. He went right to sleep, lying at
the edge of the big, big bed. Tommy, and Old Rabbit, and Kokey Koala,
and even Mr. Bear went right to sleep.
Outside the wind blew hard and harder and the rain drove down and it
was dark. The television reception was bad. Everyone went to bed early.
Good night. Lights out.
In Tommy's room it was quite dark with only the faint, watery rays of
the street light on the corner swimming in through the rain. In the
closet there was a stirring, a fumbling, a tearing and the hole in the
blackness grew, was forced, bigger, wider, as the Thing pushed and
ripped at whatever was barring it from the warm, red, oozing food it
craved; it must have; it would have.
And, in a sudden gust, the wind blew harder still. Somewhere in town,
blocks away, a wire fell and blue sparks flashed and crackled in
the dripping night. In Tommy's house the refrigerator went off, the
electric clocks stopped. The street light blinked once and was gone and
in Tommy's closet there was a sudden, mighty surge of effort, a break,
and something, not a sound, but something, a harsh and bloody sense or
feel of rending greed flowing outward from the closet in a wave.