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Sann sat in the little, pink, plastic chair by the window. She looked outside and watched as gusts of wind carried the clouds across the bright, full moon. The window creaked and groaned whenever the enraged wind battered it from outside. To Sann, the roaring of the wind sounded like the shadows were trying to claw their way into the house. Their long, gangling claws sliced at the window, but could not penetrate the glass.
She hated shadows. Sann was scared to death of them. Anything could be lurking inside ready to strike. That's why she sat close to the window, where she could bath in the glow of the moonlight. Safe.
Pulling her knees up under her chin, Sann watched as moonlight danced on the trees which were swaying from the wind. She shivered, but kept her gaze on the silent moon.
Something moved in the room.
Sann froze, not knowing if she should turn and look or ignore it. What if she sees one of the monsters? Its beady dark eyes staring back at her as
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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