You hear a polite knock on the door . The closet door .

It did n't get any louder or faster. It was a patient knocking, almost rhythmic, considering how long it had gone on. Jake was terrified. For once he wished that it was n't dark. He had never been afraid of it for as long as he lived and he was proud of that. But now he was wishing for floodlights, for flares, for anything. Instead, he had to settle for a keychain flashlight that he found outside one day. 
 
 He prayed for it to go away. He never understood God, Jesus or the Holy Spirit, but he prayed to all three of them anyways, just to cover all bases. He promised to lead a pious life and to never sin against his merciful creator. Never ever. 
 Yet still, the knocking did not go away. 
 
 Nobody was going to help him, Jake decided. He was too paralyzed to cry for help. Hot tears streamed down his face. His throat tightened, as if he was going to chuck up his frantic heart. 
 
 He did n't want to die. 
 
 He did n't want to die tonight. 
 
 He was not going to die tonight. 
 
 He was still shaking when he got out of bed, when he took out the baseball bat underneath it, when he walked up slowly to the shut closet door, his keychain flashlight convulsing. 
 
 He thought about his mother, whom he had an argument with that morning, and how much he loved her. 
 
 He closed his eyes, pushed the sliding door to the side and swung back his bat, ready to do the lord's work in slaying this demon. 
 
 When he opened it, he froze for a moment. 
 
 And then laughed. 
 
 First thing tomorrow morning he was going to ask his Dad to fix the `` on'' switch on his walking toy dinosaur, he promised himself. 

