By Philip Malazarte
I wake up in searing agony. My eyes jerk open, and I shoot up in my bed, furiously searching for the cause of my pain. I see nothing. No hidden creature, no monster hiding under my bed. I sit in the dark, bewildered and more than a little irritated. The ache subsides, and I am left with a nagging question in my brain. What had caused that flash of pain? As I search once more, my eyes glance at my body and I realize what it is. I’d shaken off my blanket in the night. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary other than that. It would explain the ache, since it is fall, I was just cold. But my brain refuses to believe it. Seriously? Nothing that mundane causes that much pain. But I'm too tired to think about it more. I shake my head, sigh dejectedly, and curl up in my blankets,determined to return to the warm paradise I’d just been shaken out of. As my body heat floods back into the comforter, I start to drift off. I feel safe, and warm. My legs begin to warm up again, and it’s a strange sensation. Almost as if they’re melting. Is that normal? I contemplate moving my blankets again to see what’s going on, but a wave of lethargy sweeps over me and I am brought back down to my pillow. Sleep, a voice says, and I am more than happy to follow the advice. My eyes start to close and, finally, I am once more greeted by the warmth. Then nothing. For a while.
An owl hoots in the cold autumn night. The boy’s room remains untouched, aside from the moon and the shadows of branches. He sleeps peacefully, never noticing the protector standing by his bedside. Never noticing the monster that he had been saved from. He wouldn’t see the bite marks on his legs till morning, the scratches that ran down his calves. He simply wrote it off as scratches from days before, from the hike. But when he brought it up, his parents told him that he hadn’t gone hiking. Confused, he goes on with his day, the cause of the scratches nagging at his mind. But he just can’t seem to remember.