As a child I would line all of my stuffed animals up on the shelf. I would look at my work with admiration, lie on my bed and fall asleep. When I was six, it started. George, my duck who sat in the middle, was not on the shelf when I woke. I sprang from my bed and searched. I found him on the floor facing the door. I was confused, but I merely placed him back on the shelf. The next week, this happened again. Again he was on the floor. Again it was George. It happened the next week too. And the next. Then it became more frequent. Every third night. Every second night. Every night. Again he was on the floor. Again it was George. It almost felt natural to wake up and put him back now. The initial fear was almost gone. But then the others joined the game. They would turn to face George, and slowly they all turned. The first night, only the ones next to George's seat turned. But eventually, after a week, all six turned to face the teddy that was gone. Again he was on the floor. Again it was George.
It's been two months now. The fear is quieting again. I still don't understand why, but they look harmless. Or they did. One morning I found the door ajar, just slightly, with George staring out into the hall with light spilling in around him. Slowly, night by night, the door would open further. Then eventually, with six stuffed animals staring at the door, George was no longer in my room. I opened the door and looked down. Again he was on the floor. Again it was George.
