This story comes to us courtesy of long-time commenter W. , who blogs over at Because I Can. I love this story so much. The narrator has a great Lovecraftian tone and it ends so awesomely. Oh, I just got the title! A little slow on the uptake, here. But that is also awesome.
It has been 83 days since I got a good night’s sleep. Eighty-three endless days since Mother brought the witch home.
I have no idea why Mother would bring such a hateful thing into our peaceful home and can only conclude that it has bewitched her. Her behavior around the witch is very odd. When it leaves its nest in the small room among the coats she constantly follows it around and struggles with it for control. On rare occasions even Father struggles with the witch and its hell spawned tentacle. Yet the enchantment is so strong that they both shame me when I try to warn them of its evil, sometimes even humiliating me with their laughter and ridicule as I try to scare the witch into fleeing.
I have tried to predict when the witch will come rushing out of its nest among the presents Mother thinks we don’t know about, but I have not yet been successful in predicting its behavior. There is rarely any warning before it is suddenly roaming the house filling the air with its unholy screeching, its single cloudy eye suddenly bright with an infernal glow. It knows where I keep my treasures and constantly takes them. You no doubt will judge me harshly for cowering in the corner as the witch steals my treasures, but the memory of its waving tentacle grabbing me and trying to suck my soul down into whatever hell it comes from haunts my dreams and makes rational thought difficult when I hear the screeching.
Sleep eludes me and I fear for the children. Thus far the witch has only come out in the daylight, but I know its kind. One night soon it will charge from its nest among the broken action figures and stray blocks to try and take the children. I tried to sleep by the childrens’ door, but Mother and Father insist that I sleep in my own bed so I must constantly sneak into the hall and back to bed before they discover me out of bed. The lack of sleep is becoming a problem and I am showing the physical toll. My tail sags listlessly, my ears droop pitifully, and I no longer have the energy to play Get The Ball with the children. I can barely even eat the bread balls Mother gives me when I feel unwell.
Others are starting to notice my difficulties as well and I feel that I must put an end to the witch before the Squirrels notice my laxness. I fear I must attack it the next time it rushes screeching from its nest in the dark under the stairs. I will die soon, but I will protect my family from the evil witch Dyson to the very end.