Then he was gone, a small gray blur slipping into the brighter dark of the hallway.
“I’m the closet monster,” said the creature, stepping into the sliver of light. It was no bigger than a house cat, with patchy gray fur, moth-eaten wings, and a nervous twitch in its tail. “But everyone calls me Felix.” Closet Monster
“Who’s there?”
The vision lasted only a second, but it felt like years. When Connor opened his eyes, the mask was back in his hands. His cheeks were wet. Then he was gone, a small gray blur
Connor lifted the mask to his face. The porcelain was cool against his skin. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the room fell away, and he was six years old again, standing at the top of the stairs while his father’s suitcase clicked shut downstairs. A door closed. A car started. And his mother didn’t come out of the kitchen to say goodbye. “But everyone calls me Felix