Turtlenecked Monster

Daddy casts the blanket into the air, holding the bottom corners so that it falls perfectly over me. After wedging the blanket tightly under my sides, down to my feet, he switches off the hallway light and returns downstairs. We all wait, frozen. The thumping starts. The monster, its head hidden within its turtleneck, clomps into our rooms, derangedly mussing up our blankets as it wiggles its fingers into our armpits. As we writhe in ticklish terror, we never once think of those other monsters, the ones in the closets and under the bed, that seem to plague other children.