Broken Words

Being curious is a must. Peeking over every corner. The friendly Blorp observes from the shelf. Lights dim. A scrape answers from below. Blorp’s eyes track it. The air tastes of rust. Something drips. Thick.Low rambling starts under the boards. Broken words. A plan spoken to itself.
Who to take first. How long to wait. Where the others hide.The scrape comes closer. A wrong shadow pulls across the floor. Two pale points open in the dark.

They do not blink. Blorp stays wedged between a stuffed toy and dusty books. The wood bites. Dust falls. The thing sniffs. The pale lights stop on the lowest board.A claw tests the shelf. Once. Twice. It shudders. The rambling does not stop.Then the climbing starts.A slick ridge rises between the slats. The lights come with it, higher, nearer. The muttering comes with them.Blorp does not move.The climbing stops.The lights lock on him.They do not look away.