A Nocturnal Visitation

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

Jonathon woke to the sound of insistent knocking. Everything was dark: his room, the world outside his window, the hallway beyond his open door.


The sound was definitely coming from within his room. Heart racing, he crept out of bed trying to follow the knocking back to its source. Six steps in, he slipped to the sound of a tearing noise. His hands instinctively sought his dresser and bed to keep himself from falling. He remembered now, that he'd left his new Dino-kid comic on the floor even after his mom had asked him to pick it up. Now it was ruined. All because some jerk woke him up in the middle of the night!

When Jonathon pinpointed the sound, he found it was coming from a raggedy X in the paint of his wall. He'd been told that he scratched the X there three years ago but he didn't remember doing it.

When he got close enough, the knocking stopped and the whispering started.

"Oi, mate. Come on, open the door. I'd do it but me hands are full. Please. Just. Open. The. Door."


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