The Half That You See by Rebecca Rowland (the two towers ebook .TXT) 📗

at 8:00 every night whether I feel tired or not. After I drink my glass of milk and eat some soda crackers, I tip-toe to my room so I don’t wake the boogeyman if It is sleeping. I make some more courage and count to three before quickly opening my closet door to check for It. It isn’t there.

As I climb into bed, I tuck myself deep under my grandma’s quilt and squeeze my eyes shut. Can I hear It? Can I hear It breathing or hissing in the walls of the house? Sometimes I hear It in the middle of the night, banging around, roaming free. Why does no one else hear It? Why is it just me?

Sometimes, when I ask the kids at school what their boogeyman is like, they tell me it only comes in the dark and their mommy or daddy can make it go away. They just shine a flashlight around and in and under everything in their room and it goes away. They say theirs hides and they can’t really see it, they just know it’s there. Until their mommy or daddy comes.

I can see mine. And I can feel It. Sometimes It reaches for me and Its grabby claws dig into my back as It wraps Itself around me and my breath gets stuck. I just tremble and hope that It’ll let go before It kills me with Its talons. That’s what the teacher called the fingers of the different birds we learned about in school. The eagle and the hawk and the owl. I don’t like birds. They pick up little animals and eat them. I feel like a little animal sometimes. Like the mouses who live in the organ. I wish I lived in an organ. I would never come out, ‘cept if I had to pee.

Sometimes It pushes me out of its way. I think It’s coming for me but instead, this time, It’s going for somebody else. Only they don’t seem to notice. They aren’t afraid like I am. ‘Cept the babies. Sometimes the babies scream when the boogeyman is near. I think they can sense the danger like me. Usually my sister saves them. She takes them to another room and rocks them until they aren’t scared anymore. I know I’m a big girl now but I still wish I could be rocked to sleep.

I lie in my bed and again beg for happy dreams of me and Sugar, us walking on the worn-down paths in the woods or on top of the green or brown hills, our manes blowing in the breeze. Her mane is dark and light—different shades of grey, but mine is just light, yellow like the little girl named Goldilocks that we read about in school. Sugar has a big belly so I think she likes her food more than I do. My belly is flat and sometimes my pants slide down a little, unless the elastic is really tight. Her feet look too big for her legs but I think my dad just needs to clip her hooves. They are splitty and dirty. My toenails are kinda dirty too, and my sister needs to clip them for me but my fingernails are okay. I bite them so they stay short and clean. My dad yells at me when he sees me chewing on my fingers so I do it in secret, when no one can see me. No one, ‘cept the boogeyman. But I don’t think It cares about my nails cuz Its are cracked and sharp. I think It wants to chew me up so It doesn’t go hungry and die. Sometimes I just wish It would die.

So after I say my prayers, I think about Sugar. And my cat Fluffy. Sometimes Fluffy takes his paws and presses them one at a time, over and over into my soft, flat belly while he purrs. Then I know he’s happy. And it tickles. Then I feel happy too. When the boogeyman presses against me, it doesn’t tickle. Even when it doesn’t hurt, the scariness makes me hurt inside my tummy. Then I don’t feel happy. Sometimes the boogeyman laughs at me, and I see Its teeth. They are yellow but not like the yellow of my hair. They look rusty, like above the tires on my daddy’s hay tractor. When I see Its teeth, It looks old, like the man with greasy white hair who sits in front of the grocery store every day, smoking his pipe. When It is dressed in clean clothes and has a baby in Its lap, It doesn’t look so old.

My eyes are heavy and then it’s tomorrow. The high notes of the organ are playing again. I need to pee but know I can’t leave my room until the scary music stops. Crawling down and under my bed, I clutch my privates and squeeze my legs shut, hoping not to wet my nightie before it’s safe. Sliding to the edge of my hiding spot, I reach up and into my drawer and feel for my lucky penny. It’s not there. That’s when I remember it’s still in my pocket of the pants that lie in a heap in the far corner. My tummy feels sick and I start to shake. A little pee slips out at the same time as my tears. I lay there for forever in my soggy mess until finally, finally the noises stop.

The bathroom is just steps outside my door and I make some courage and run as fast I can and slam the door behind me. The boogeyman is not here. Relieved, I sit on the toilet and empty my aching tummy until there is not even a drop left. My tears won’t let up and I rub at my eyes to make them stop. I am not a baby! I can’t let my daddy see me like this. He has no patience for a cry-baby.

After my eyes dry up, I quietly