Screech 

Laying down in the darkness on a patterned bedspread, staring at the shadow-scaped ceiling. 

Visions of leafless trees dancing back and forth in front of the street lit pane, projecting across my ceiling like ghostly fingers stretched across walls – reaching out to a child’s imaginative mind. Shadows swaying inside the dramatic rhythmic pull of mother natures best storm. 

Pull up the covers, hide your face.

The wind howls outside my bedroom window, scratching and clawing at the glass – tap, tap, tapping it’s icy nails impatiently. “Let us in!” it shrieks in overlapping tones. “Let us in so we can gift you glass eyes and a pale crystaline mask”. 

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