This Bedtime Story

"Devils,” She insisted. “They climb from him at night. They tear their way out from inside, from his belly and his brains. Poor Mr. Tuffington, ripped to shreds, stuffing everywhere.”

“Now, now, Audrey. They’re just nightmares. Do you want a night light, like little girls?”

“But I hear them, ripping him apart.”

“It’s probably just squirrels on the roof, dear. You get your over-active imagination from your father.”

“When is daddy coming home?”

“Soon, dear, soon. Would you like me to take Mr. Tuffington away? To protect you from the creatures.”

“The devils.”

“Where did you learn a word like that, anyway?”

“Daddy told me. In a dream. I have to look after Mr. Tuffington; I have to put him together again every morning so that daddy can find his way back.”

“What a strange thing to say, dear.”

“Daddy told me he needs Mr. Tuffington, he said he can hear him singing me to sleep. He said he can follow the songs home.”

Janet stared at her daughter. She definitely had her father’s imagination. Janet feared her daughter would one day follow in his footsteps.

“I’m just afraid, mummy.”

“I know dear, I know.”

“Sometimes I can’t find all of the stuffing.” Audrey began to cry on her mother’s shoulder, “I’m afraid because one day I might not find enough to put Mr. Tuffington back together again.”





(John Xero talks ambiguity)