The house was empty but he talks alone. First a whisper then a clear voice behind his ear.

“Can I have a sock?” asked the voice.

There’s no reply.

“Please.”

The child sat up. His bedroom was exactly how his parents left it to go to the hospital. He rubbed his eyes and his bubblegum bubble popped loudly, breaking the expected silence.

“Why do you always ask for a sock?” the boy questioned before turning around, grabbing a sock from down the side of his bed and chucking it on the floor. He waited for a second before he pulled the covers back over and with a sigh closed his eyes again.

“Another,” whispered the voice in the darkness. “This time blue and spotty.”

The voice paused.

“And one that doesn’t smell,” it added.

“Shut up,” sighed the boy.

The room fell silent again except for the frustrated chewing of gum. A silent breeze sailed through the room.

“I prefer pastel socks, do you have any of those?” a different, softer voice asked.

“Pastels are ugly, why would he have pastel socks?” came the first voice.

Aggrieved, the second voiced punched back in a harsher tone, “His parents likes pastels, I could tell by the colour of the decorations downstairs.”

“Go look in their room then,”

“But I was told this is my room,” wailed the second voice, pitching up several tones.

“No it’s mine, it always has been!” The first voice spun around the room, the sound reverberated off the walls.

“Since when? I wasn’t told about this?”

“You must have a different room because I found this one first!”

The voices paused, everything was completely silent, even the chewing hushed. Then came muffled whispers.

“There’s only this child though.”

“Well I don’t know who told you there were two children but there’s only one.”

“You know who told me…”

“Shut up!” yelled the boy, sitting up sharply.

Suddenly, a door opened downstairs and a yellow light seeped around the cracks of his bedroom door.

“Something’s coming,” panicked the voices and a swift breeze brushed through the room. Everything lay still.

“Hello?” called the voice from downstairs.

The boy assumed it must be the babysitter his parents had arranged whilst they were at the hospital. She must’ve been running late because she was meant to be here an hour ago.

“Who are you yelling at?” came the downstairs voice.

“Nightmare,” the boy yelled back.

“Your mum’s done a good job of preparing for the baby,” shouted the voice, “these pastel teddies are adorable!”

The boy flopped back into bed, his head hitting the pillow rather too violently. He winced and rolled onto his side. Finally, silence. He breathed deeply and sunk into sleep.

“How do you turn the TV on?” pierced the downstairs voice.

He opened one eye.

“Can you help.”

He opened both eyes

“Please.”

With a sigh he swivelled out of bed and cracked the door open. A harsh bright light sliced his eyes, forcing them shut as he fumbled his way downstairs.

“Don’t worry! I figured it out!” exclaimed the voice, punctuated by several loud voices beamed into the living room by the faintly flickering box in the corner.

He’d barely got halfway down the stairs.

Squinting, the boy found his way back to his bedroom door and turned the handle. It didn’t move. He pulled at the door again. Still, it wouldn’t budge.

As his eyes focused to the sharp light, he noticed the socks on the floor, placed neatly beneath his door.

‘DON’T YAWN!’

It was punctuated by a pastel blue baby sock.

The TV blared loudly, the clapping of an audience rocking the house violently. A crisps packed crinckled and loud chewing textured the vibrations. Suddenly a breezy voice sliced through the noise.

“It’s coming to get you, there can only be one child.”

The pastel sock vanished.

The beating floor, screaming TV voices, eating, crinkling, applauding, laughing, compressed the boy’s head. He pushed his hands over his ears harder, slumped down against the door, shutting his eyes so hard white and gray fuzz floated around his mind.

“Go away, go away, go away,” he muttered.

“Go away?” came a voice from infront of him.

The boy peeled his hands away from his ears and opened his eyes, yet he still saw darkness and heard silence. The silence was so silent it began to ring, the sickly droning buzz bouncing off the walls of his skull.

He could feel the figure coming closer.

“Are you feeling sleepy,” it sung. “Time for a lullaby.” It’s voice was high pitched and dreamy, sickly and sleepy. It leeched his energy, crumpling his body into sleep.

The boy reached for a light, his hands slapping aimlessly against the wall, fingers spread wide. Still the footsteps got closer.

“The moonlight whispers soft and low,” the voice meticulously sang, elongating the words and slowly twisting them. “As things you cannot see, they grow.”

“Shut up,” yelled the boy but his voice was hushed. He could feel the wave of tiredness coming over him. With each wave his limbs got softer, his heart beat slowed and his darkness got darker.

“As you yawn, so soft, so slow, the dreams will come and none shall know.”

He could feel the breeze of ‘know’ fall against his face, soft and warm. The prescence was scary yet comforting. Sinking further into the wall, his hand trailing down the wall, the boy felt a yawn lodge in his throat. He breathed and it got larger.

The voice seemed to reach and touch his skin, warmth curling around his face.

“As you drift, you’re not alone…”

A lock twisted downstairs. The voice froze, cold around his face. The boy shook off the sleepiness and the lump dislodged in his throat.

“Emilio, we’re home!” called his Dad.

A light flooded the hallway and the voice sunk away, pulling the blanket of tiredness with it.

The boy’s ear pricked up and he raced downstairs.

“Time to meet your little brother,” smiled his Mum.

Emilio raced into his Mum’s arms, silent with lingering fear but his face smiling with relief.

“Why is the living room filled with socks?” laughed his Dad, picking up one of his socks. “I didn’t even know we had this many,” he said shaking his head.

“Ohh Emilio, I knew we shouldn’t have cancelled the babysitter,” his Mum laughed.