Goblogna

I am the one hiding under your bed. I make the bumps in the night. When you’re sleeping, I wake you up when you hear a creek or a bang. I steal your homework, and I eat your socks. I make the shadows on your walls, which cause your hair to stand up and your heart to drop. I make you scream and cry for your mommy. I am Goblogna.

“Mommy! Mommy!,” Johnny screamed when he saw me standing in front of him. As he was sleeping there like a spent little baby, I growled at him. He was sucking his thumb and sleeping so soundly, I had to wake him. He didn’t hear my first growl. He didn’t hear my second growl, which was a little louder than the first. I stuck my teeth out, opened my mouth, and growled right in his face. Bits of chicken, from my last feast, along with spit flew into his face. It splattered across his nose and eyes. Damn, he woke up quick. The stupid kid stared at me, half asleep. When his eyes adjusted he was so scared, he froze. Suddenly, he screamed. He called for his mom. I smiled and ran back under his bed.

I could hear him talking and crying to his mom. “Mom, there was a monster in my room!” he told her. That pissed me off a little bit. I’m not a monster, I’m a Goblin. Kids always think you’re a monster. Then he continued insulting me between sobs, “He was tiny and dark green. He had big, pointy teeth. They were yellow and slimy!” First of all, I am not that tiny. I’m 4’3” and I’m the tallest damn Goblin in the clan. My teeth are kinda’ yellow, but what do you expect? I’m nearly 1,000 years old!

“He had big, huge eyes that sagged and warts all over his face. His ears were big and pointy! He was drooling all over the place!” he babbled.
“Honey, there’s nothing in your room. It was just a bad dream.” His mother told him, looking tired and growing impatient.
“No Mom, it was here. He had crunchy skin and long, dirty fingernails! He went under my bed!” he yelled at her.

His mother rolled her tired eyed and sleepily bent down to check under the bed. I saw her nimble hand start to reach for the checked blanket that was draped over the side of Johnny’s bed. I crept back into the darkness, and hid in a dark shadow. Johnny’s mother unfocusedly looked into the darkness, saw nothing, and stood back up. She told Johnny there was nothing there and wished him goodnight. She left the room and closed the door. I crept out of the darkness and onto the floor of Johnny’s bedroom. I inched up to the edge of his bed and began to breathe in his face. He slowly opened his eyes.

See No Evil

See no evil.

But the image is burned into my eyes.

It stings as it is remembered.

It dwells there, behind my pupils.

It dwells there, ruining my life.


At one time, I was a beautiful young woman. I had long layered chestnut hair that shined in the sun, and gorgeous green eyes which resembled a forest in the summer rain. My nails were long and stiff; my body was lean and muscular. My hands were soft, smooth and unbothered. They glided over objects as I caressed them. I walked the streets with confidence when I had no cares and I was happy. Nothing distressed me and I had no ghosts haunting me. But that was then.
I walked down the street, turning into an alley to take the shortcut home. The alley smelled of damp, rotten heaps of garbage. Trash lined the dirty, stinking ground. Broken glass reflected the faint lights emanating from the street behind me and each piece sparkled like crystal in the sun. It was the only light provided to me in that darkness.

I’m not sure what made me decide to take that shortcut. I had shuttered at the thought of travelling down the dangerous dark path many times before. Something was different that day. Something inside of me was different. I was too confident, and that confidence lead to my demise.

As I walked, about halfway through the alley where I could nearly feel the warmth of the dim street lights from Harrington Street, I heard footsteps. At first, I thought they were only drops of water falling from the tall, red brick buildings around me. Each step was quiet and calm, soft and almost friendly. They then became louder as they got closer and faster.
I should have ran. At that point, I should have ran fast and hard out of the alley. I could see the light of Harrington Street and it was becoming brighter. If I had ran, maybe I would have been able to escape. Maybe my life would be normal.

I still couldn’t turn around. My neck was frozen in fear. I couldn’t face the thing that was creating those horrible, threatening footsteps. I turned and faced that thing.
My mind goes blank at this point. It has been many years since then but each day I am reminded of what I saw in that dark alley between Crowley Street and Harrington Street. The image is burned into my eyes. It stays there behind my pupils; like a bird in its nest.

I snapped. On my 47th birthday the memory came back, stronger than ever. I was standing alone in my kitchen making myself dinner. I knelt down to Guinevere and stroked her sleek black fur and listened to her purr. The steady sound reminded me suddenly of the steady footsteps that crept up behind me. I screamed in pain as my eyes revealed to me the horrors of that night again. It was too much to handle. The terror came back day after day without warning. I would be standing in that terrible alley looking at that man again and I would watch as he tore the clothes off that young girl. I watched as he cut her and I watched as she screamed. I watched the death of that beautiful young girl and I watched the birth of the new, haggard me. Everyday this happened. I wouldn’t be able to take it anymore. I grabbed the knife in a fit of agony. I knew what I needed to do, I needed to get rid of the images. The images of that night were dwelling behind my eye and I needed to get rid of them. I needed to rip out those images and discard them. If I did this, I knew, I would be that young, beautiful girl again. I knew those were the only things holding me back. I took to knife to my face and stabbed it into the thin flesh surrounding my eye. I needed to get the entire eye out, and I did not have the time to take off my glasses. This needed to be done quickly. I screamed in pain as I ripped through my eye lid with my long, yellowed nails. I grabbed my right eye and began to cut it, but it was stuck. The memories of that night were holding onto it because they wanted to be seen everyday. I could not allow them to win. I ripped the eye out and discarded it on the floor and the blood splattered against the wall. It oozed onto my flesh feeling warm and cold at the same time. I felt satisfied at that point, but suddenly I realized the memories were still there. They were hiding behind my left eye; they did not want me to forget them. I needed to discard all of the memories. I knew what I needed to do and I began to rip at the flesh around my left eye.