The FACE!

It's a face. I know, I know, it's really just a collection of clothes or something, but, here and now, it's a face, because when you're seven, and it's dark, you're not exactly the most rational person on the planet. So I lay, radio playing to somewhat calm my nerves, and study it.

A face. Not an evil face. Not even really an unkind face. The face of a kid, in fact, not older than about sixteen or so, staring out at me from under a baseball cap. But still a face, a hge face, floating, disembodied, two feet off my bedroom floor.

I don't know what to do. I was never trained for anything like this. I was never told how to defend myself against a face. I'mparalyzed. As benign as the face looks right now, I'm afraid that, if I get out of bed to try and run away, the face may attack me, and then where would I be? Just an article in the paper. Page 4, just under the upside-down cake recipe, "Small Child Newest Victim in Face Crimes".

I have the covers over my head, but I know the face is still there. And I know the face knows I'm still there. And I'm sure the face knows, that I know, that the face knows I'm still here.

What can I do? I'm far too scared to move, and I can't cry out, because A)My room's on the other side of the house and my parents wouldn't hear me anyway, and B)If they did come in, and switch on the lights, I'd see the face as it really is, a irregularly placed potted plant, or the shadow from the street lamps, and I'd feel like an idiot.

I peek my head out again. The face is still there, and has started making faces of it's own, sticking out it's tounge and raising it's eyebrows in a highly offensive manner.

The face is different now, too. The nose is longer, and the face looks older, more weatherbeaten, and the baseball cap has been replace by a cowboy hat. It reminds me of something, though I can't, for the life of me, think of what.

The paranoia of childhood overtakes me again. Oh, what to do, what to do? If I throw something at it, can I be sure of getting away, before it recovers? If I just take off running, is it fast enough to catch up? The face has no legs to speak of, but it does seem to be floating fairly well.

Finally, I make my decision. The face hasn't attacked me, but then, I haven't moved. So this is the tableu in my bedroom for several hours, myself, laying perfectly still, trying hard not to move, lest I provoke the face, while the face hovers, just a few feet from my bed, alternately staring at me and making faces, until, after what seems like forever, the sun rises and the first few rays of dawn appear and banish the face. And I breath a sigh of relief, and fall asleep.