all things come out of the dark, slithery things without spines but slick. things that bump up against your heel and your ankle and climb gingerly up your leg with sharp little teeth that you would barely notice if they were not so quick and warm and wet.
and bigger things come out of the dark reared up on hind legs that bend in the opposite direction with their tongues pitched out and draped over their shoulders flicking this way and that swatting out the light from your eyes, tasting your tears.
and here we were with night lights and door locks and bed covers and silver knobs and crucifixes but we did nothing about the closets or the radiators, we never thought something so terrible could fit into the pipes, could escape through the cracks of things.