A Description I Couldn’t Ignore
The next morning, I checked every lock. Every window. Every closet.
Nothing.
Still — something felt wrong.
That evening I asked casually, “What does Mr. Tom look like?”
Ellie colored quietly before answering.
“He’s old.”
“How old?”
“Like really old.”
“What else?”
“He smells like the garage.”
That made no sense to me.
“And he walks slow.”
“Does he ever touch you?”
She looked horrified. “No.”
“What does he do?”
“He watches to make sure I’m okay.”
I swallowed hard. “Does he ever say scary things?”
“No. He says good kids deserve peaceful dreams.”
Then she smiled. “He always fixes Mr. Bunny when he falls off the bed.”
I looked at her stuffed rabbit, sitting upright on her pillow. It had been propped that way every morning lately.
I’d assumed Ellie was arranging it herself.
Maybe she had.
Maybe not.
