Dear Kelly, I was asleep by your side, when I saw something scary. I know you do not understand a word I say, but I wish I could make you see.

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You sleep so soundly, peacefully you lay, but I really have something I must say. I want to protect you but I am not sure if I can. What I see is neither cat nor man. Please understand that when I can't make a plan, it's because the thing in your closet chased me when I ran.

 

But I could not stay away, I had to keep it at bay, so that you could sleep safely, that's why I hurried back bravely. 

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As I stare through the legs of your nightstand, there is one thing I understand. We're being watched by something that makes my mind bend. I can see an eye, that is all I see, dear kelly.​

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I must stay strong, it does not belong. It's like something deep inside me can tell this isn't a good thing. It's as if my ancestors are calling to me saying: "protect them against it". I can hear a droning noise.

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It came out of the closet, hovering nearby. It is an eye, dear kelly, smelly and sly gliding and sliding like a slip-and-slide riding walrus across the air of which flow is barely there, it seems to be transcendental beyond this physical space, yet interacts as it stares me in the face. 

 

Dear Kelly, I do not know what to do. But I know only one thing, I shall try to protect you. I am in fear, great unadulterated dread. This substance I drink by the side of your bed, like the goo the eye drops before it disappears. What are those? slime, fluid or tears?

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Dear Kelly, I hiss as it backs into the closet once more. I hiss before I bump my head against the door. Open it shall not be any longer, my fear is strong but my love is stronger. 

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