Last Laugh: Wall Invaders

It's June in New Hampshire, a time of warmth and renewal. A time when life returns to the veldt behind your walls.

It starts when you’re awakened in the dead of night. Scritch, scratch, scuttle. You close your eyes. It was only a dream.

Scritch. Scratch. Scuttle.

There it is again. You stare into the darkness. “Scooter!” you hiss at the orange cat curled peacefully on your chest. “Stop it!” He opens one sleepy yellow eye and resettles, pressing his butt against your face in a quiet display of indignation. You push him off and he vanishes into the gloom, casting an angry glance over his shoulder that says, later, I shall poop in the tub. You’re not worried about it right now; your eyelids are just ... too ... heavy ...


Your eyes pop open with a familiar feeling of dread. You lie there. Droplets of sweat bead at your temples and the bathroom nightlight floods the room as Scooter pushes the door open. You know in your heart: There is something in the wall.

The question is, what?

Click here to read the rest of this essay in New Hampshire Magazine!

Illustration by Brad Fitzpatrick

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