Humans show a certain kind of courage by sleeping with their leg outside of the covers.
When I was younger, too young for my blueprint of the world to be complete, I filled the spaces with magic. I wanted to create answers, hoping that thinking I knew the way the world worked would make it less frightening. It is the not knowing that makes a thing fearsome; it gives my imaginations the space to run wild. It is why our monsters exist in the dark places just beyond the corner of our eyes, where we cannot know what we saw, or if we saw it at all.
At night, they are soft and vulnerable with sleep. They build fortresses out of blankets and pillows, guarded by teddies they think will keep them safe from the grabbing hands of monsters.
This fear of the unknown followed me as I aged; it makes the back of my neck prickle and heart pound at even the suggestion of footsteps behind me, makes me run from the room when I turn out the lights. Somewhere along the way I started telling myself that the monsters were nothing but figments, but deep down, I always knew I was wrong.
Except for Eleanor. Eleanor has been inviting us in for years.