by Amy S Cutler

Have you all heard the tale

of a little girl named Gail

who, asleep in her bed,

she didn’t know to dread

the man under there,

with the long grey hair,

and the skinny white nose,

where his overgrown toes

stuck out a little more

where her bedspread hit the floor.

The nails were so long,

and he hummed a little song,

as he licked her hand,

which had her summer tan.

And she giggled, ‘cause she thought

it was the little dog she bought

at the corner pet store,

but that was all before

she found her dog dead.

He didn’t have his head.

His eyes were gouged out.

He was even missing his snout,

and his paws were bleeding,

his little hair receding

where the bite marks dug into his fur.


Poor little Gail

found her dog and turned so pale.

Knees shaking in dread,

she looked under her bed.

She pulled at her hair

in complete despair.

And she picked at her toes,

and tore at her clothes,

while she rocked on the floor

before she tried the locked door,

and heard the little song,

that now sounded all wrong.

She scratched at her tan,

and realized the man

was there when she bought

the dog that she sought,

but that was before

everything turned to gore,

and he lost his head –

Wait. The man’s still under her bed.

She kicked his huge snout

before passing right out,

her breathing receding,

her memory all in a blur.


And that is the story

Of how little Gail killed him –

The man with the hair and the skinny white nose, and the overgrown toes, who killed her new friend right under her bed, tasting Gail’s tan while licking her hand, and making her giggle while humming a song which is so wrong and now he will never taste anything again.

Please look under your bed.

Not to fill you with dread,

but to have sweet dreams

instead of blood screams.

Which for Gail will always, forever occur.