My name is Harry.
Every night I find myself in this little girl’s room. I don’t know why, I’m just naturally drawn to her. Most nights, she wakes up and tells me about her day, the new doll her daddy bought for her, the things she did at school.
When she goes to sleep, I watch over her. The night we met, a hand came from under the bed and grabbed her foot. I kicked it hard and it went away.
The night after that, a hooded man came from her closet and grabbed her by the hair. I fought him until he went away. They come every night, and I always fight them off. She calls me Brave Harry.
But I’m scared. I’m scared because a week ago she told her dad about the monsters. He managed to convince her that monsters aren’t real, that she’s just having nightmares. Then… they stopped attacking her. It’s like they ceased to exist.
No hand from under the bed; no man in the closet.
And I’m scared.
I’m scared because today she told her dad about Brave Harry and, just before she went to sleep, her father told her “Harry isn’t real, he’s just your imaginary friend.”
And I’m left here wondering. Wondering how long before she stops believing in me. How long before I cease to exist too.
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