from Ginger

Children

My house is haunted 

They stalk me, they surround me. I am not alone.

They stalk me, they surround me. I am not alone.

My house belongs to “them.”

They are everywhere. I put something away, it jumps back out. I walk down the hallway, something walks behind me. The television turns itself on, the lights flicker, a dish falls to the floor. Sometimes, a piano plays. In the thick veil of early morning, I hear them and feel them. They stalk me, they surround me, I am not alone. Continue reading

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Don’t argue with a toddler. Don’t even try.

It’s his usual routine. The boy, barely 3 years old, wants to delay sleep as long as possible. The familiar litany of “go potty, need a drink, want my blankie, give me a kiss, sing me a song,” comes to a merciful end. Only one card left in his deck, and is going to play it.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

“The shadows are talking to me again.”

It works. I sit down next to him. “Shadows? What do the shadows look like?”

“Oh, they are over there,” he points his finger to the wall. “They look dark. But they want to be my friend. But . . . they are scary.” Continue reading

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