Just as I did every night, I climbed the stairs of my home and made my way across the landing to my little girl’s room. It was 8 o’clock, and I hadn’t tucked her in yet, or read her a bedtime story. I entered the room to find her hidden under the duvet, and, by the tremulous way it moved, I could see she was shaking.
“Sweetheart, whatever is the matter?” I asked.
She slowly pulled the duvet from over her head to expose her tear-stained face.
“There’s someone under my bed” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
I smiled and stroked her hair.
“Don’t be silly, sweetie. There’s no one under your bed. Look, I’ll prove it.”
Kneeling down on the floor, I looked under the bed. There, looking straight back at me was my sweet little girl, eyes wide, tears running silently down her cheeks. With a trembling finger, she pointed upwards.
“Mummy,” she whispered, “there’s someone in my bed.”
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