Hell Unleashed

I couldn't sleep again.

Unlike previous nights this wasn't through excitement, but entirely down to that Original Prankster: the wind.

An almighty crash outside like a Giant's foot crushing civilisation in a bad temper and then the sound of dogs whimpering.

"Babe. BABE, What was that?" I shriek, sitting boltright-up in bed.

"Go back to sleep", a bored answer. "Dogs fighting". A Kindergarten teacher's answer to a hysterical finger painting student.

I sink back onto the bed. Dogs fighting? Plausible...

...to anybody but me.

I stare rabbit-in-the-headlights style at the ceiling, counting the ways in which it could just as easily be Hell unleashed outside my door.

Out of control escaped wildcat savaging anyone foolish enough to be out tonight, severing jugulars as it stalks the night? Disgruntled ex-employee hell bent on a bloody rampage through the village with a rusty blade and an overactive imagination?

Or aforementioned Giant stamping us out one by one in his wellington boots because there is nothing better on the television to distract him?

Go to sleep, child.

I close my eyes.

Knock, knock, knock.

They fly open.

Close them again.

Knock, knock, knock.

Skeletons with muskets tap tap in the crawlspace beneath our bungalow.

You are not the twelve year old lead in a children's movie about monsters. Sleep.

I close my eyes again.

Meanwhile the skeletons tap tap a drum beat into the night for my sleeping self to march to.

(Picture entitled 'Night of the Living Dread' On Black)