I was fifteen when it first came, old enough to know it wasn’t normal and young enough to know I’d be committed if I told. Half asleep, feet hanging slightly off my uncomfortable mattress. It didn’t come from under my bed but right through the door, all rambling limbs and skeleton knuckle cracks, a deliberate sort of limp as it nudged its way across the carpet, closer to the bed, closer to me until its face loomed inches from mine.