“But I don’t want to go to bed, the man with no eyes is waiting for me in the closet!” The little boy wails in his Spiderman sheets, thrashing about wildly.

“Honey,” his mother says, rubbing her tired eyes, “nothing is in the closet. I’ve checked billions of times.”

“You stay! You will see him too!”

“Come here,” his mother pulls him into a hug, wrapping her arms around the tiny boy. “I’ve given you water. I’ve given you four bedtime stories. I’ve given you seven kisses and nine hugs. What more is there?”

“Stay, momma. Stay and you’ll see,” the boy whispers, pointing shakily to the closet’s closed doors.

“What does this man with no eyes do?”

“He comes out, he crawls on ceiling. Then he reaches to me,” the boy stammers.

“He reaches out to you? Right. Does he say anything? Like, ‘hey, Christopher, I want to be your friend.’”

“No, no, momma. He just quiet, reew-reew quiet. Then he move his head… backward. It says ‘cl-lick’ like… snapped,” the boy tries to snap his tiny fingers as the momma dozes against the headboard.

The closet doors slide open, the man with no eyes steps out. The boy watches, his eyes wide, mouth agape.

“Momma,” he squeaks. “He’s here.”

The man clicks across the floor and begins his climb up the red wall and onto the creamy ceiling. The boy’s short brown bangs fall back as he gazes upwards at the monster.

“You… you wanna be my friend?” The boy asks innocently.

The monster’s head twists, a bone protruding through its neck as it reaches out to the boy.

“I be ‘ur friend if you be nice. You be nice? You a nice friend?” The boy reaches up towards the monster’s hands. “Momma said you want a friend. Do you?”

The critter drops down on the boy and the mother, taking their eyes and ripping out their throats so they can’t scream.

The boy’s mother never gets to see the monster, for her eyes are now on his fingers. And the boy, well he never gets the friend he wanted.