Lovely Penguin

by marie gordon

It was approximately 4am the other morning when I awoke to a scratching sound. I saw a large shadow in the middle of the room. What was it? Was it moving? I couldn’t move. I was afraid to even move my eyes.

It appeared upon a midnight hour
When frozen vials thaw from ice
A single shadow- o’er bed it glower
Upon my soul of timid mice

I lay still, afraid to so much as move my hands, as if some horrid Chucky doll lurked beside the on switch to the light. Then I heard it again, like a screwdriver scratching away on the sides of my walls. Who the hell is in my room?

And on the floor I felt a cracking
Creaking shifting in my bedroom floor
Sounds so utterly a-gasping
I drew my breath and held my chilly core

In a swift movement, I flung myself upward into a sitting position while gripping the on-switch on the lamp. Should I turn it on? Do I even want to see the fate that awaits me? Why the hell did I sit up anyway? There’s a murderer in my room.

Alas a candle in the window
Just a wanderer this eve
Who passes by my window oft
Moving the shadowy manikin I perceive

Where is the light coming from? The window. I forgot to close the blinds. I feel the glow, seeping over my shoulder from behind. Who is it? The scratching, it becomes wild and unceasing.

As the bronze of lock swings open wide
And the click invites my guest inside
I shiver on my neck for refuge to hide
While yellow beady eye glares near bedside

I grip the switch. Click. Light. Slowly I move my eyes around. No one. I stand up slowly, out of bed and move towards the scratching sound coming from the wall. I see it, like a little joke-box, wobbling. My Raisin Bran box is moving.

The box it wiggles, creepy snails
Inside just waiting to arise
To haunt the corpses of those dead
But moreso those alive

I grab the box, and grip it in between my hands. Inside a creature scratches and squiggles. Inside, I reach. I grip it tight in my fist. I feel the fur. Its wriggling tail. A trapped little mouse drowning in cereal.

O to be less terrified of death
And so much less, to live
To battle in the tiny tomb of thoughts
O what I would not give

I pull the mouse out of the box and toss the remaining Raisin Bran in the trash can. Bloated from her cereal binge, her belly swells in my grip. She squeaks. I open the lid to her cage. I sit her back in and hop back into bed. Nothing to worry about. I turn off the lamp.

But solitary flicker glares
Inside my window its bearer dares
Staring breathlessly un-erred for where
I lay silently aghast under pallid cover layers

Shit. I forgot to close the blinds.

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